Death Call
I missed it
but my officemate
said that was what
the caller had said
to give the call a name
Not many people whose
death would prompt
a call to me at work
Braced myself
No name attached
to caller or deceased
Did I call a number
or did my uncle call back?
It was my father’s brother
It was my father’s death
Given the alternatives
that had to be a relief
In a fire it happened
He said it was smoke
He’d seen the body
Not burned
But it was a closed casket
so maybe he meant
not terribly charred
less implied suffering
Town’s newspaper
pointed to a cigarette
as the cause
He lived alone;
and I was glad
I’d seen him only
a month or two before
for the first time in three years
at his father’s funeral
where a cousin of mine
whom I hadn’t seen
in a much longer time
remarked my dad was
getting through it well.
I knew she meant that he was
sober beyond her expectation,
perhaps some fears,
intended really it to be a
compliment, and I appreciated that,
though not without a little shame
for both myself and him.
I learned from her
that one of our first cousins
was in prison:
drug-dealing, what else?
I’d lost touch with that side
Her sister, no longer a nun—
or was she still?
clothes are inconclusive—
sang at that funeral
sang with another
woman who played guitar
(I wondered)
Now I’m thinking
“Sister” was applied to both
After my father’s funeral
my uncle Kenny
the one who’d given me the news
talked business on the phone
(“buried my brother” mixed in),
later drove off
so drunk I wondered
if we shouldn’t call the cops
- © Robert Estes 2023
Robert Estes, who lives in Somerville, Massachusetts, got his PhD in Physics at the University of California at Berkeley and had some interesting times using physics, notably for a couple of Space Shuttle missions. His poems have been published by Cola Literary Review, The Moth, Gargoyle, Slant, Tipton Poetry Journal, Blue Unicorn, Masque & Spectacle, Constellations, Loch Raven Review, and Alba, plus that many others.
No comments:
Post a Comment