Second Funeral

Miss Jane Somers probably died in Switzerland in 1929 of T.B.,
I surmise, though not from her words exactly.
Her words were couched in hope, but
with each succeeding letter her handwriting seemed weaker.
Always, she wrote, the doctors were keeping her a bit longer,
but she'd be back soon in Coney Island.
No letters dated after 1929.
 
The wrecking ball did its work,
an entire neighborhood was modernized into broken bricks.
In the tangle I found the box, in the box the letters,
always, "Dear Father." She was 19 in '29.
The box was in a closet,
dusty letters from a long dead daughter.
Now light shines on them one last time,
a final viewing;
the mourner--a rummaging stranger.
Rat droppings, I must wash my hands.
Can't keep the letters, no masterpiece of prose,
and Miss Jane Sommers never made the news,
no lost diary of the famous revealed,
nor was she anyone at all to me.
I put the letters back in the box, put the box on the curb
and leave them for the garbage men.
 
"Dear Father,
 
 . . . miss you . . . can't wait to come home  . . . 
write please . . . wait for your letters . . .
hope you wait for mine . . . I'm sure I'm in your prayers,
you're in mine, always."

Rescued From Safety

Tragedy springs not only from the cruelty arising in both mother and human nature,
but also from half-assed mercies.
 
No, neither pedestrian nor driver had malicious intent.
Indifferent at first, the pedestrian suddenly backtracked
and even started reaching out with his arms,
but then aborted his rescuing embrace,
for a frightened kitten might scratch, 
and an infected scratch throbs fiery red.
But he did try to block its way and shoo it back to the curb.
He stamped his feet, clapped his hands, and shouted.
But the kitty was all spunk,
and sidestepped the Samaritan's shilly-shallying machinations.
It dashed straight toward the center line dividing coming from going.
Of course the oncoming driver applied his brakes, 
but not quickly enough for the road was wet 
and skidding a real personal danger.
The careful driver always keeps the proper priorities,
so the timing was perfectly wrong.
The road kill gave both driver and pedestrian pause,
but then they shrugged and went their separate ways.
After all, it was raining and the street was flooding.
I saw it all from the other side.
If the man had just simply crossed the street,
the kitten would have found its own way back.
If the driver had never touched his brakes
the timing would have been perfectly right,
for the speeding car would have missed the kitten completely.