H
e a r t S o n s & H e a r t D a u g h t e r s of A l l e n G i n s
b e r g
N
a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 4 : A r c h i
v e s E d i t i o n
DAVID COPE
Fran
I see
my parents still
wailing in the living room Argentina
Street,
a grey day, no wind & out the window traffic flashing past––Aunt Fran's
husband & son Dutch, my older cousin
who'd
filled his room with electronics, a genius at 13,
killed,
accident in the Rockies,
& she in a hospital, her arm broken––my first
memory of lives, faces swept away from my life––
later, when the sun broke thru,
wonder where we go––I was six––
& after that, Dutch's oak furniture arrived,
his bed to be my bed, his mirror where my face
would stare back, sigh & dream of love––
&
Fran, recovered, circled the world alone, sent me
coins from England, Austria, Egypt, Japan,
mysterious envelopes that arrived in the mail
worlds beyond my suburban sidewalks
& mystery gardens where I'd pause
before an open rose & lose a day in dreams––
later, her house burned & she escaped
miraculously, settled & worked in Maryland
as my parents' marriage cracked up,
grandpa died, I raged at fallen love &
lost my heart
until, lost, child, I found myself in Sue
& found my father again & heard
my long-lost grandma's sighs & sorrows,
Fran
the oldest child who'd seen more
& kept herself apart, learned to be alone––
& after that, after the loss & the fire & years apart,
met her Hale & danced in her 70s like
a teenager, a few years without pain––
a few years blooming in the fullness of her
womanhood––
who guesses how much we can know even of those
nearest us, how others cope & sing above
their suffering?
she'd refuse a funeral, would
go home to lie with her Hale––
these last months
awaiting an end that now comes swiftly––&
I, learning of it,
sit with my sisters & my family, my 50th
birthday
stilled with this quiet moment filled with
her life,
flocks of birds wheeling in slow motion, hovering
around
the feeder in winter snow––
[Originally
published in NHS 1998, http://www.poetspath.com/napalm/nhs98/cope.html.]