Archive
06/18/11 - (2)
Mommy and Daddy
The drive east, out of Manhattan, across the 59th Street Bridge, To Queens, on the Long Island Expressway, Guides us, compellingly, to Mount Hebron Cemetery —
The five of us (you, dearest Linda, me, your cousin Judy, And your sister Marlene and her husband, Jim, Who, like me, has never made this sacred journey).
You and your middle sister have been absent, for a decade, From your parents' burial plot, that minuscule space Rooted in an elm tree's shade, amidst numberless stones,
Which fade from vision as we approach, closer, closer, Until we're in the hallowed aura of Shirley and Murray, Near enough to hear their endearing spirits breathing, breathing,
Greeting us, with their soft, sweet, whisperous love, Their numinous breathing weeping cheerful tears, Now that we're evoking them, drawing their memories closer to us,
Close enough to see the dates on their headstones, Encapsulating spans that ended in a catastrophic season, When, in March 1970, eight months before Murray died, at forty-nine,
Broken-souled Shirley's life-light was extinguished And the unimaginable, insatiable sadness of those tragedies Sapped the boundless happiness, from the Glatzer family,
Whose three precocious daughters (you, Marlene, and Denise) Sang, acted, danced, and dreamed of fame, On stages lighted by the eyes of your proud mother and father. I remark how strange it seems, that Shirley's birth date is missing. You tell me it was omitted at your dad's request; She was embarrassed, being two years older than her husband.
"I'm so glad you're here with me, today, L.D., So that Mommy and Daddy can meet you in person. They'd always hoped I'd find a 'nice Jewish boy' to complete me."
Soon, our hand-holding becomes a tender face-to-face embrace, Which turns to tears both of us know will nourish the earth That keeps their spirits' breathing close to each other and to us.
06/18/11 - (2)
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