someone's theme song

It was 1998 when my uncle died. Mad cow disease

from deer semen injections as a child. Or so some

now speculate. I was just turned 40, lucky all my life.

 

My father next, in 1999, a September solo;

dozens of tiny cancers held hands in his lungs,

like children in a ringaround,

until they met as one and stopped his heart.

 

My mother, later, in December. Small strokes came

after years of emphysema and fear of the outdoors.

I said, I'll see her on the weekend.

She died on a Wednesday. 

 

I will forever remember

the crack in my baby brother's voice.

 

Following quickly: great uncles, great aunts,

Opas and omas and grandmothers and grandfathers.

Mike died of diabetes. nana in her bed, cold one morning.

George just stopped at 99.

 

I walk the point now, eldest and

the first of the last ones standing.

 

Will I make the call or will someone

call because of me? Will my voice crack

or will someone inform the sibs that

in all fairness, I was the first to fall?

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I understand this poem. I have become the eldest also. Hard when people need help and advice. I do the best I can. It is hard when you expect better from people who do little. The poem told a story of life and death. We can't escape either. A strong ending to the poem. I believe we must be kind and stay silence if nothing good to say. A excellent poem. Thank you.
Coyote

[Tim Schulz]

This one is looking for some sort of rhythm... I will probably overhaul once these thinkings become a bit more focused...