Ask
You ask me how my holidays went.
I say, ‘fine.’
You ask me what I did.
I say, ‘went to a funeral.’
You ask, ‘whose?’
I hesitate, for I don’t know how to answer that.
The entire atmosphere lightened
When she walked into the room,
‘Cause everyone knew that when she came,
The party really started hopping.
At her sister’s 50th anniversary bash,
She took my neighbor out onto the dance floor;
They danced like a couple of drunk teenagers,
Or so I was told; I didn’t see it.
She never could swim very well,
So at my grandparents’ pond,
She held onto the floaty with all her strength,
But she held onto her beer can tighter.
When someone knocked over a drink,
She’d yell, ‘Alcohol Abuse!”
And claim they’d be punished by the Alcohol Gods.
She could play a mean game of Nertz.
She was the fastest player:
‘Ace! Oh, the two! Oh shit! Get that three out there!’
Then she’d laugh and her cry of ‘NERTZ!’ made the whole table groan,
‘Cause the game just ended,
And she’d just won.
She once asked me how school was, how it was going.
I’d mentioned my math test the next day and how I was sure I’d fail.
She’d waved away my worries and said,
‘Pshhht. Don’t worry about it. You don’t even need it. I’m a—
Well, you don’t need to know how old I am—
But I’ve never used it a day in my life!’
And she’d laughed.
(She had a very distinctive one, you know;
A laugh that made her easy to pick out in a crowded room.)
According to the adults,
She could make the best Bloody Mary in the world.
She made it strong.
Every Sunday morning they’d all jump on their motorcycles and
Drop in on people to sit around the kitchen table.
They would laugh, tell jokes, and drink their fill of the stuff.
They called it ‘Bloody Mary Sunday.’
She loved that drink;
During our yearly Thanksgiving family reunion,
We’d play volleyball;
Between serves she’d take a gulp of it,
Then set the glass down next to the net
Until the next time-out
When she’d run for it again.
She had been out rollerblading
Up and down the street with her grandsons,
Just the week before.
She was part of a motorcycle group;
The ‘Harley-Davison’ troop was all there the day of the funeral,
Crying into their black leather sleeves.
After the service,
My grandma went to take down her Christmas tree.
She found two handmade ornaments,
Both were pink with the pink
Cancer ribbon.
My mom’s name was handwritten on one,
My grandpa’s name was handwritten on the other.
It wasn’t a group thing;
She had come up with it,
Done it on her own,
And never told anybody.
When my mom learned of it,
She couldn’t stop crying.
But now you are standing there,
Waiting for my answer with your ‘I’m interested’ face on.
I simply say, ‘my great-aunt’s,’
And don’t let on how much it hurts
That I don’t know how to tell you whose funeral I went to.
I say, ‘fine.’
You ask me what I did.
I say, ‘went to a funeral.’
You ask, ‘whose?’
I hesitate, for I don’t know how to answer that.
The entire atmosphere lightened
When she walked into the room,
‘Cause everyone knew that when she came,
The party really started hopping.
At her sister’s 50th anniversary bash,
She took my neighbor out onto the dance floor;
They danced like a couple of drunk teenagers,
Or so I was told; I didn’t see it.
She never could swim very well,
So at my grandparents’ pond,
She held onto the floaty with all her strength,
But she held onto her beer can tighter.
When someone knocked over a drink,
She’d yell, ‘Alcohol Abuse!”
And claim they’d be punished by the Alcohol Gods.
She could play a mean game of Nertz.
She was the fastest player:
‘Ace! Oh, the two! Oh shit! Get that three out there!’
Then she’d laugh and her cry of ‘NERTZ!’ made the whole table groan,
‘Cause the game just ended,
And she’d just won.
She once asked me how school was, how it was going.
I’d mentioned my math test the next day and how I was sure I’d fail.
She’d waved away my worries and said,
‘Pshhht. Don’t worry about it. You don’t even need it. I’m a—
Well, you don’t need to know how old I am—
But I’ve never used it a day in my life!’
And she’d laughed.
(She had a very distinctive one, you know;
A laugh that made her easy to pick out in a crowded room.)
According to the adults,
She could make the best Bloody Mary in the world.
She made it strong.
Every Sunday morning they’d all jump on their motorcycles and
Drop in on people to sit around the kitchen table.
They would laugh, tell jokes, and drink their fill of the stuff.
They called it ‘Bloody Mary Sunday.’
She loved that drink;
During our yearly Thanksgiving family reunion,
We’d play volleyball;
Between serves she’d take a gulp of it,
Then set the glass down next to the net
Until the next time-out
When she’d run for it again.
She had been out rollerblading
Up and down the street with her grandsons,
Just the week before.
She was part of a motorcycle group;
The ‘Harley-Davison’ troop was all there the day of the funeral,
Crying into their black leather sleeves.
After the service,
My grandma went to take down her Christmas tree.
She found two handmade ornaments,
Both were pink with the pink
Cancer ribbon.
My mom’s name was handwritten on one,
My grandpa’s name was handwritten on the other.
It wasn’t a group thing;
She had come up with it,
Done it on her own,
And never told anybody.
When my mom learned of it,
She couldn’t stop crying.
But now you are standing there,
Waiting for my answer with your ‘I’m interested’ face on.
I simply say, ‘my great-aunt’s,’
And don’t let on how much it hurts
That I don’t know how to tell you whose funeral I went to.