I did not mention it aloud
this year.
It was terrifically cold that day.
In our dining room
women played recorders.
Tom juggled.
Alyse had a bad cold.
My parents looked sharp
in their great clothes.
Naomi was pregnant;
so was Shereen,
who organized
some picture taking.
Pat recorded it on video.
Susan chatted, whispered.
Mark observed.
Anna played "Skye Boat Song"
on her new clarinet.
Evan announced time to begin.
A famous Chicago judge
Jewish for my father
declared us married.
The littler ones threw confetti,
Rebecca had a new sister-in-law
married to the identical twin of her husband.
Alan and Linda and Paul were happy
not to know
that in thirteen years
this pair (these pairs)
would be halved.
We spent the next two nights
in a beautiful suite
at The Drake Hotel.
Far below
our warm, elegant room
we watched
little cars, workers,
travel north and south
on snowy Lake Shore Drive.
To the east, reliably so,
great Lake Michigan,
beautiful, huge, dark,
familiar,
unpredictable.
2 comments:
Happy day of giving birth, Jill. I do not have the words for the anniversary of Ken's death. He is with you always, because you love him, because he is in Natalie, because he is in Alec, because you write about his presence with such vivid and beautiful strength and clarity. My love to you.
I took a break from blogs (except my own and even that's been sporadic) for a while. Tonight I felt the need to reconnect with other widows, so I came here and read this... and I wish I could reach out my arms across all the miles between us and hug you.
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