A Prophecy of Mourning
Brandon Cook
On the long timeline of life
We will someday remember: there was a time when grandpa came to live nearby,
Moving in with his daughter, your parents, my in-laws
And this remembrance will give us pause
As we think about his death, and how he lived and died
We will remember that smile which said, "I’ve been beat down by life”
And the eyes that questioned, “Surely all this longing cannot be denied?"
That smile, those eyes were like Oliver, pleading, “Please, God, I’d like some more”
And surmising that there was no more sustenance and no more time
No stairway to heaven to climb
One of us, then, will comment on how he loved going to the putting green
And traded stocks in the afternoon, and lost his money
Defrauded and left bereft by cold souls who prey on the old, both thief and victim groping for some rope to hold
And we will talk of
How he loved sand and sun and beach, beneath blue sky
How he’d talk of water and start to sigh
These remembrances will have some gravity, the weight of something beyond which we can just begin to name,
But we won’t stay too long in them, sensing the pain
So the orbit of our thoughts will pause before we let them pass
As we realize—not with words, but with an intuition too deep down to hold—that we have no words at all to hang on the sadder mysteries of life
Which ended in grandpa, at his close, with strife and yet, no more strength to fight
A good life which sought some safe harbor and did not, we think, find much clear water
This we will mourn, and the world will turn
And one of us will look up at the sky and ask where we should eat
And we’ll numb our losses with wine and meat
For this will remain the way of things
And it will be pleasing, though incomplete
Like waves and like the sea