Aunt

Forget the roller of big cigars. Here

comes the knitter of sweaters and shawls,

cook of chili rellenos and leg of lamb

and salted cod; here—

the obsessive tidier, expert gossip, 

worrier, desirer of quality in home-

appliances and carpet, lover of maple

furniture: my aunt, dead.

She never traveled far from 

Northern California—once to Mexico,

once to D.C., often to Reno to play

the slots left-handed.  Now she’s gone

as far as anyone goes.  “Toward the end,”

as they phrase it, she couldn’t talk much

but still said one phrase as clearly as

a rifle-shot: “Absolutely not.”

To God I respectfully suggest: Be ready

for this aunt and others down here

with their hand-hewn quirks, iron opinions,

loyalty, attention to detail, grudges, toughness.

You will accept them into Heaven.  They

will want to rearrange a few things.

hans ostrom 2024