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For Arleen z"l
I remember
that mid-August day
we climbed up from the road
and you said you liked this spot
because of the view,
the sun behind us
cast flickering veils of light
across the slopes of Mt. Royal,
the green grass shimmered
like curtain velvet,
and the grey gravestones
lit-up in uniform rows
like seats at a theatre -
you said this way
you'll come to visit
once in a while,
and you were right
especially in October
when the trees are dancing
their burlesque,
a breezy yellow, orange,
and red striptease
(did you know already
that you would be gone on the 18th?)
you loved stories
with a dramatic
denouement,
and to laugh
before punch lines;
I still have the photos
from that day showing you
posing on your just-bought plot,
looking too skinny,
like a fashion model
because they think
the camera
adds ten pounds.
We joked around,
had no idea the weight
of the moment
when the shutter snapped.
I have regrets:
I wasn't attentive enough.
One always attends
to the place that hurts
the most, so these days
I come back often,
the view helps,
leave a rock.
8 comments:
Glen, you are so cool.... this brought a tear. You were a great son. Xxoo
A very sad and moving poem, my friend.
Also many delightful lines that surprise in a good way ...
"and the grey gravestones
lit-up in uniform rows
like seats at a theatre"
And the autumn trees shedding their leaves like burlesque dancers ... brilliant!
Also the ending, the rock on the gravestone, grounds the experience in more ways than one.
Who was Arleen, if I can ask?
Thanks Kelp. My mom. Passed away five years ago today. My mom was a tall flamboyant type, loved fashion when in public wore bright clothes that made a noticeable statement. People would see her on the street and take note of the woman wearing the long shiny fire engine red raincoat, which is sort iconic to us. My teenage daughter loves wearing the clothes she inherited from her granny, if you can believe that. She was youthful in spirit (and fashion) right up to the day she died rather unexpectedly.
Beautiful.
I thought it might be your mom. You've captured her spirit. And a beautiful shared moment in time.
Glen, this is such a beautiful tribute to Arleen. It was only a few months before her passing that Molly and I had the good fortune to reconnect with my cousin Arleen after so many years. The four of us sat at our favorite deli in Montreal to catch up on over 40 tears of family recollections as well as some untold stories and some hard truths about family members. Significantly enough, I had just visited my mother Pearl, a favorite aunt of Arleen's, which turned out to be the last time I would see my own mother alive. Arleen was very much how I remembered her in those 3 hours or so together. Animated and with her usual wit and biting humour. I will never forget that meeting we had in Montreal in June and that goodbye hug from my tall cousin.
Bob Ungar
Thank you Bob. I remember that lunch together so well and so fondly. I felt so lucky to be a part of it.
The poem makes me shiver, because your mother, though seemingly healthy, was gone within two months of choosing her gravesite. The trees dancing like burlesque: so dramatic, so evocative. And the physical shape of the poem: the trees can be seen in its form. Beautifully written.
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