Dear Cuz, I think about you
Every morning when I make
My half of the connected beds
And smooth out the gigantic quilt
You made to cover them both
I recollect we played with paper
Dolls beneath the branches of
Our grandfathers’ hydrangea bush
Not knowing of the sorrows we
Would face along with many joys.
You lost a brother to pneumonia
While serving in the Vietnam War
And then were left a teenager
With a defective infant
Who after all did well enough.
And after many happy years
With a good man found yourself
Alone, confused and wandering
On a cold and snowy night
Towards a merciful pneumonia.