Saturday, February 19, 2005
3am
Letter to Dorothy
I had hoped that maybe when we grew old,
our spouses gone, we might mend the rifts between us,
patch us up and live the other end of life together
learn songs our parents didn’t teach us,
talk across twin beds
the way we (sometimes) did in childhood.
But our lives between then and now
spoke a different ending
with you dying
younger
than your life
expectancy
and me
the older sister
left behind
to write
and wonder
how we
squandered
so much
time
and when
it was
(how old were we?)
when
I left you.
Dorothy's buried here.
(Her husband was a vet).
The rabbi said the prayers,
and Scott and I said: Amen.
Nobody else was there.
