Notes About The Poem
My cousin died several years ago, now.
Speculation
Close together, we chat.
Relatives, cousins - our mothers: the twins.
In the wind, ghosts;
we speculate.
We wonder while we
chitchat and munch.
Distant memories
of practical jokes, tokes;
days before she ran away;
& not questioning her
upon her return.
Sitting on my lavender bedspread;
laughing, listening; forlorn-ing.
Her i.d. tags, army surplus look,
blonde hair; my long locks, dark brunette.
In the Summer week,
we speculate on ghosts;
something we know nothing about.
We stood, took turns
standing over his coffin -
her brother joked
to relieve the tense.
All together, our gang;
our mother’s brother was twenty-five…
My cousin was fifty-two;
in the wind, ghosts,
I’ve surpassed
speculation, leans differently today,
knowing one day,
this world will fade,
as another comes into view.
Close together, we’ll chat,
as relatives speculate.
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