it seems to me
that, for as long as I can remember,
her lovely little laugh
jingled, gently, through the days of my life
like windchime tinkles on shushing breezes
or the whispered breaths of rippling leaves –
tiny exclamation marks
that “abracadabraed” the moments
where we lived:
across the street from each other
and down the road from our grandmother’s house.
memories of the sweetness
of those sunbeam hours on nana’s old porch:
the smell of sweet peas from the garden,
gently wafting through the squeaky screen door
mingling with whiffs of lead pencils
and woolworth scrapbooks,
that we’d fill with our adventures –
and sing and dream about taking our act,
“the singing cousins" on the road.
she always made everything seem
swimming across the lake,
skiing down the mountain,
becoming international rock stars.
we were, in those shining hours
– invincible –
and then we weren’t.
sometimes out of nowhere
(sometimes as soft as leaves rustling)
I hear her giggle in the air
the sound of her
– the heavenly breathy tinkling sound of her –
but she's not there.
note: Poetry Jam’s prompt for this week was to write a tribute (or eulogy) about someone. I chose to write about my cousin Susan. Our sweet Sue, lost her battle with cancer on December 13, 2007 – leaving us far, far too soon. This poem, you might say, was years in the making, as I have written about her passing several times before. But the prompt from Poetry Jam gave me the opportunity to weave elements of those previous poems together.
photos: The Sound of Her - W. Bourke and “The Singing Cousins” – H. Shaw (Mom).
© 2014 Wendy Bourke