"Uncle John"
{I wrote this the night before he died.}
Why do I cry
When he isn't yet gone?
Why do I cry
When he is a good man?
Why do I cry
When I know where he is going?
Why do I cry?
You tell me.
Uncle John
was strong and handsome.
Uncle John
was kind and true.
Uncle John
was thoughtful and just.
Uncle John
was creative too.
Then
the speech slowed.
Then
the world shook.
Then
the brain tumor.
Then
the other one.
This happened
to the man who brought me towels.
This happened
to the man who carried my luggage.
And now he's withering away
A life can shatter in 9 months.
