The Spoils of War

 It will be a bad Friday to see you cold-  not much more than a week ago- we spoke.

You laughed and drove my boy  to the game- you were so very alive-helping me-

 as I dealt with doctors and knives.

You brought sweets, though I still can’t eat –

 

Your son could do no wrong in your eyes

true or no,  I don’t criticize.

It was as it should be- you were on his side.

You knew of our failings, what we could never get right-

but your love for him and his boy brought me a kind of rare  joy-

That you would never turn on him, no matter his age, the situation- right or wrong-

 Nor would he spend years writing letters asking for help, an answer- and wait-

if he feared  he couldn’t get by in this once glorious state 

 perched on expensive tectonic plates.

Those kind of questions he need never ask.

You always said it would happen someday- but your heart never failed until Monday.

The years since we’ve  been estranged seem unending-  inevitable change  impending-

It was never Romeo and Juliet

more like the Montagues and Capulets.

 You once said I was  like Apollonia -“more Greek than Italian”

but it turned out more like  Michael and Kay.

You never blamed me, shamed me-

for not being like you –

for trying  to fit in and getting further outside

still you gave me my due-  for doing many of the things

 even you could not bear to do.

 even  if  it was because you knew

I knew more than I thought /you thought I knew-

though I’m sure you know more than I-

you will take all that  with you

as we miss you and  kiss you goodbye.