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
