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--