A Certain Legacy
Long before I thought of my own death
we had a service for my grandfather.
He was an immigrant and a photographer
from Russia,
lived through the Revolution, the Depression and a War,
lost his wife to typhus, gave up photography
was buried in a grave marked with a stone
carved with the letters C-9
When my father died after a simple but complex life
I was away, coming back for the funeral
We grieved in our own ways.
After, we drove in the country-side sharing stories
of life and living.
Now he lies next to mother several rows over from grandfather.
We never stop and visit.
I think of him on birthdays and some holidays.
He’s 114 today.
After cancer, stroke and general wear and tear I
think of my own death.
I see a pattern here.
Marty
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