I Wish Aunt Emily Were Back at Home
Someone on here, someone dear to me, recently lost his brother-in-law, which reminded me of this poem I wrote for children. After I had written it, I realized that it was about the death, not very long before, of my kid-brother, Ted, at age 37, about which I was still in denial. In fact, I came to understand that the reference here to the phone was prompted by my feeling, for several weeks after his death, that the only reason I wasn't hearing from him was that I had stupidly forgotten his phone number!
And the last line - about the best I have ever written, I think - expresses both the persona's and my helplessness in the face of the incomprehensibility of death.
I wish Aunt Emily were back at home.
She went away about a month ago.
She said she'd phone.
She never did.
I guess that where she went
There aren't many phones.
I know she's not afraid
To be alone.
She's an adventurer.
She's very tall.
She's my favourite aunt.
I wish she'd call.
That's all.
J. Newman © 2006
Who's To Be Absent From Whom
Who's to be absent from whom,
that's the rub
of love
as practised by the damned.
They've each perfected
the kiss
that leaves the other
unsatisfied,
the promise of passion
that dies
as soon as realized.
J. Newman Sudden Proclamations © 1992
