artwork: ralph murre
remember
cousins
by
Barb Cranford
remember
how they tumbled
suddenly
into your backyard
where
you were playing
with
your best friend
older,
boisterous boys
they
smashed the sandcastle
scattered
the buckets
and
broke your hi-li paddle
after
dinner they went away
with
their parents
to
wherever they came from
three
who lived in Seattle
existed
only as blurry faces
in
the front row in snapshots
that
arrived every year
with your aunt’s Christmas card
one
much-loved cousin, gone now
sent
her poems to you
from
a nursing home
you
held onto her life line
as
long as you could
some
day when you are old
and
living in the country
one
you’ve never met
will
drive into your yard
and
walk slowly up the path
with
sunlight behind him
amazed
you will recognize
the
image of your father
come
clear across the country
to
meet you
~
first appeared in The Oak
