JACK'S
FUNERAL
Elizabeth
Zelvin
we
get up early, drive to Danbury, Connecticut
to
say goodbye to Jack
hugging
Marian, whom I've known all our lives
I
say
You had so many wonderful years together
add,
and she says it with me It doesn't help
grief
takes its own damn time
Jack's
eightieth birthday would have been
two
weeks after mine coming up in a few days
at
heart, milestones don't count for much
the
point is love, what missing him will feel like
sons
who look exactly like him
rooms
overflowing with his friends
when
the rabbi asks the congregation
to
call out words that make them think of Jack
along
with kindness, home, and art
family
and unstinting care for others
they
mention cowboy boots and turquoise jewelry
I
say
Adventurous! remembering the time
we
met them in Hawaii
we'd
seen
all we could on Maui
whales,
volcanoes, sunsets, everything but
the
legendary road to Hana
one
narrow lane, 59 bridges, 619 hairpin turns
precipitous
plunge on one side
mountainside
teeming with waterfalls on the other
I
hated to miss it but didn't dare
then
Jack arrived—his kind of road
he
took the wheel and drove us all to Hana
like
a maniac, joyful, fearless, and immortal
