Archive
08/05/11
Twilight with Jim
Jaxson, Jaida, and Connor, aged two, four, and six, A blended-family trinity of boy, girl, and boy, Claiming two mothers and two fathers, between them, Belong, for this evening blessed with cool heat, Not only to their shared, sharing parents, Marshall and Jen, But, by the gentlest of blood bonds, To Marsh's mother — their grandmother, Linda — And to me, her late-life love, L.D., Whom all of them, in their fashions, have embraced, As if I'd always been integral to their history. This communion extends the continuity of our genealogy.
After our screened-in-porch barbecued-chicken supper, We drive, in two cars, through pastel dusk, Toward Jefferson Barracks National Cemetery, To rendezvous with your late husband, James C. Moore — Marshall's father, the kids' unknown grandfather. Once there, we spread a blanket, in the tidy, grassy space Separating his gleaming white-marble gravestone From thousands of other silent warriors' monuments, And just allow to happen whatever happens naturally When we let the darkling sky bathe our souls, in its serenity, Beckon us to express our affection for his here-and-now spirit.
Kindred with the lush shadows draping this rolling-hill cemetery, We settle into the beautiful solitude its hallowed pallets exude, Revel in the bugling of a distant train whistle, The soothing whispers of planes slipping through the breeze. For a few distracted minutes, we dip our fingers and forks Into a plastic container of watermelon tidbits. Myriad families of deer graze amidst the graves. They're so near, we can almost overhear them watching us, And we wonder if they're curious why we're here. Now, the kids are hugging the stone, good-bying "Grandpa Jim." Our family will rest well, tonight.
08/05/11
|
|||
|
|||
