No photos and no comedy and no politics.
Eunice Liljegren passed away two weeks ago. I heard the announcement of her death on a Sunday morning. I'd known her and Leon only slightly, but I really felt a connection to the both of them.
When I heard the announcement I immediately thought of the Christmas when we went and caroled at their house and Leon sang along with the carolers. I recalled the day when I dropped by to pick up a cake for "Cakes, etc." I was moved by the announcement of Eunice's passing.
I was moved to write a poem. I'm not a poet, but the moment captured me, and I tried to capture it.
When Oscar took his final ride
Stepping through the church doors,
down the five concrete grey steps to
the big black waiting hearse.
The sunlight blinds us, Jon and me,
and all the pallbearers who
shovel the plain
wooden box into the gaping
jaws. We watch, Jon and I.
Then the funeral director clasps
the door, taps
on the roof and the hearse wheels away
the crematorium its
final destination. We walk, Jon and I,
north on Rockwell, across Brown
Line tracks, sniffing the sewer gasses
at Argyle street.
Consumed by crematory fires
he is gone forever.
The sun still shines and
I do not want to give up
the neighborhood, the church,
the sights, the sounds, the smells,
of my childhood.