Uncle Don and my 401K

Uncle John was talking to a woman with a long-lensed Nikon at the cemetery guard shack. As Lilith and I exited the cemetery, I said pointedly, "My 401K is NOT great again!" "Oh, just wait," he said. "It's a disaster," I responded, making an odd improvisational salute. Uncle got the final words. "Uncle Donny, I LOVE him!"

LAX, April 1, 2025

Just past customs--nothing to declare--

weeping, gnashing, keening

man on floor   head and hair in hands

brown napkin set neatly beside him

as if to hold a pebble there

weeping, keening, gnashing

"He is weeping" I heard my voice

phalanx of silent guards standing

one guard's eyes focused on a middle

distance as underneath him

man weeping gnashing keening 

 

Failed to take a photograph

Failed to lean over to touch him

Failed to say to the guard the man

was suffering sentient agony

public stage like a creche

the man a holy infant hurt

Pilgrims flowing by self-

contained controlled hurrying

in our bodies striding past 

my husband so intent on making

our connection he failed

to hear this primal sound

 

May he be free of suffering

happy (if such is it)

free from this stage/cage prison

echo chamber  did you hear

him my fellow travelers can you

move away without coming

back to anguish

shared but not spoken

no eyes in contact

no water bottle

no tissue

We made our flight--

The airplane mechanic's father

 Shared with Your friends

The retired airplane mechanic was in a better mood today when Lilith and I ran into him and his dog. The dog is fuzzy, with an almost human face. Not regal like a Portuguese water dog, but mutt regal. I told him about my letter to Arlington National Cemetery and, knowing it couldn't happen, he said he'd like to sit down and talk to my parents for a long time. His father enlisted on December 8, 1942 and was sent to Darwin, Australia in a troop ship that was lucky not to be sunk. In Darwin, they were to protect an airstrip, but the Pacific was so dangerous that no one delivered supplies; they were on their own. Had to drive long distances to find food. "My father said you don't know how completely a person can change until you see someone who is hungry." I said we have a friend who was a Khmer Rouge survivor who had described that state to us. At one point, they were told that the Japanese were coming to take Darwin, which they bombed persistently. His father's group was given weapons, told to hold the airfield as long as possible, and then to scatter. Each one on his own. But the Coral Sea battle ended that, and they remained in Darwin. His father died at 59, before he could retire, and his mother is buried in Punchbowl, because she had all the documents required to prove she'd been married to a veteran. "Gotta go," he said, as ever, and Lilith and I headed to our cemetery to walk.

My letter to Arlington National Cemetery

 

On hearing of the demise of the Wilson Center in Washington, DC

I had an internship with _The Wilson Quarterly_ for a summer after college. Hardly a site of radical activity, it was a place where people gathered to think and do journalism. I ended up writing an essay on Marianne Moore and Elizabeth Bishop, which was published in 1989, a year before I moved to Hawai`i. Here: https://www.wilsonquarterly.com/quarterly/undefined/marianne-moore-and-elizabeth-bishop

This archive is likely to disappear, as the current administration just announced the elimination of the Wilson Center: https://www.whitehouse.gov/presidential-actions/2025/03/continuing-the-reduction-of-the-federal-bureaucracy/

Today also brings news of websites being "scrubbed" that reflect on American diversity, including those devoted to African Americans, Asian Americans and Women (Americans) at Arlington Cemetery. And elsewhere.

So, I put this long ago essay of mine up to preserve something of my archive. But it, too, will likely disappear.

Lilith balks

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Lilith is a dog of qualities. One of them is not obedience. Truth be told, I don't demand it of her, though I keep her on a leash to avoid mad dashes at chickens, or dashes into traffic after chickens, or lurches toward mongooses. When we walk, one of her "words" is "balk." (Other words are "pirouette," "stare with big dark eyes," "snuggle.") I'll be striding along, when suddenly there's a jolt on the leash. Were I fishing, this would be a good sign. With Lilith, it's evidence that she's smelled something, or wants to pee, or that she simply wants to look me in the eye and announce her volition. A woman was driving by at the cemetery office when Lilith balked today. "Oh he doesn't want to walk!" She had a wide open face and smile, a flower tucked behind her ear, and was going to a funeral. "Oh, she smelled something," I said. She balked several more times before our walk ended.

On the hill, Journey roared toward us on his John Deere vehicle and stopped. Said he was going to his great grandmother's funeral today. When I told him about a woman who'd stopped to comment on Lilith's obstinance, he said, "that's my grandmother! Was she wearing orange?" I had not noticed. "I'm excited," said Journey. "I won't have to be at work."

 

As we left the cemetery I saw a group of people wearing orange gathering outside the main building. "What's it about orange?" I asked Journey. He didn't know but he did say she liked to be flashy.

 

My review of Deborah Meadows's BUMBLEBEES

 Please find the review here. Deborah Meadows is a very fine, very smart, poet. https://www.ronslate.com/on-bumblebees-poems-by-deborah-meadows/