"Tell me something
that makes you think of her
and I will think of it, too"
Omelets. The first time I met Jen
on that hot November day, nearly 80 degrees,
we went to the Arlington Diner with Debba
and I had an omelet the size of Montana.
Ireland. She was a first-generation Irish-American
and looked, shall we say, the part!
Flip-flops make me think of Jen,
and cigarette smoke, and her calling
an 83-year-old man "a mack daddy."
What makes me think of Jen?
All Saints Way in the North End.
She always wanted to see
this mammoth alleyway shrine
teeming with holy images and candles.
She never did.
Whenever Debba and I went to Christopher’s,
she'd be all, "I don't want to intrude
but can I join you and Deb for lunch?"
Good God, Jen! Of course you can!
Debba, stay home,
and I'll hang with my homegirl!
The Batman t-shirt she was wearing
in her hospital bed the last time I saw her.
I must have known because I said,
"I just adore you," and she said,
"Right back atcha."
I think of her forthrightness,
her ability to push back
if she was getting
the short end of the stick.
I think of Lisa telling me that Jen
would always call her "kiddo" or "kid"
despite Lisa's being four years older!
I hope. I hope that in heaven
or Whatever Lies Beyond,
I can spend long hours
kneeling before Jen,
adoring her as if she were the Christ,
washing her feet with my tears
as if I were Mary of Bethany.
Poetry by Uncle Meridian
Read 95 times
Written on 2023-08-01 at 08:35
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