A Tree About to Fall

My aunt died in the spring. There's still
Another aunt. Her mind has gone. There's
One more of the six strong brothers, but
He's frail and rarely travels. That old shrine,
The family home, where those six brothers
Grew, and my now-dead aunt and one
Brother raised ten children of their own,
Sits empty now. It's to be sold. Her sons
In town don't want to keep it. Thus,
The marrow of a family rots away,
And all the tree without grows weak.
It may not last.

Those six brothers and their spouses,
Forged first in the Great Depression,
Later in the world war, were tough as
Steel, and five would prosper, more or less.
Of the men, one quickly died while fighting
Somewhere in Korea. Two were tradesmen,
One a miner, one became an engineer.
The last rose through the ranks to be
Corporate executive. Their wives stayed
Home to raise their bumptious mobs.

All told, we cousins numbered twenty-four,
But not for very long. We never seemed to
Be so strong as those who raised us. Four are
Dead already (two of them by their own hands),
And others suffer from diseases, or they're
Drunks. Most are divorced or never married.
Few have kids. What we have had was our
Connection to the ones who came before,
At last, our aunt, the matriarch, and where she
Lived, the shrine. With both now gone,
The glue which bound us may not hold.
We met the way we always have last month,
This time to say goodbye to her, but as we did,
I wondered, were we also saying goodbye
To ourselves?



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 39 times
Written on 2021-09-02 at 00:22

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