Thursday, May 5, 2011
Linda you’re more than just snippets
of the shine on your bike I learned to
fly down the street to the store on,
more than your sailboats of eyes
that shined up a thousand Sundays
we swirled in worlds of jump rope
and wore our beach glass tiaras in,
our driftwood treasures on window sills,
us so sure we’d one day be ballerinas,
2 girls in fluffs of hand-me-downs,
your colors usually late morning glory,
mine in clouds of salmon and rose.
One day I’ll see photos of you and me,
ones tucked into albums somewhere in
the gardens of our mothers’ collections.
Us on beaches at picnics, and smiling near
snow mobiles suddenly quiet in winter’s hush,
the birches all naked and drowsily dreaming.
In the photo above -- are me,
your sister Melody and my brother Pat. 1969.
Linda, you up there dancing with Pat now.
You dead a few weeks ago at only 47
from a massive heart attack while driving.
Patrick killed in a crash when he was 16.
You and he maybe chatting daily now
at barbecues and such, endless parties
up there with all our ones long gone
and Einstein, Montessori and Cole Porter,
Heaven one constant garden party brunch,
champagne 24 / 7. No dishes ever to do.
Always thought I’d see you again.
And I will. Just not at this level my
elevator of time is still parked at.
Remember our last day in Grade 1?
Lori wore her long pink flower girl gown,
I the pale yellow one above, and yours
all October ocean blue with those little
diamonds of possibility stitched into the hem.
Remember? We had popsicles that day!
Then sang every song we knew on the
bus all the way home, three Big Girls soon
moving all the way up to Grade 2.
Linda if I never told you I loved you, it
was only because I still hadn’t learned how.
So, I’m saying I love you now. And you’ll
always be more than just snippets of
those candy necklaces, caramel flakies,
greasy fries, and eventually, nips of rum
on the beach where all the time in the world
still stretched itself across the Bay in streaks
of gold I’ll always remember your hair as.
Posted over on her site Jannie Funster