Susanna Donato
Late Autumn, Family
For the mourners
My redneck uncle
(his term, not mine, though I confess
I have adopted it)
—the one who mounted
a Trump sign the size of a tractor
in his front yard—
so I heard
though I did not see the sign
could not bear to visit for a final goodbye—
has fallen silent
on Facebook after years of hilarity
and by hilarity
I mean photos of snarling
Hillary, and ape memes
of Michelle, of Barack.
Which change of heart
precipitates this silence?
The disasters and the war
threats or memory
of my paratrooper grandfather
or preoccupations?
He has a new puppy
so I hear, I haven’t seen him
since the perfect day
the rain held off,
he said I love you sweetie
at the rocky spot
where men with ropes
gave over to faith’s final gulp
basket ash concrete
confetti and lavender
mixed with soil and the not-tears of men
for she who made us
one rose on the tray
when he brought her breakfast
each morning, so I hear
Susanna Donato is a Denver-based writer whose poems have appeared in Entropy and Columbia, and essays have appeared in Proximity, Okey-Panky, Blue Earth Review, and elsewhere. Learn more at www.susannadonato.com or on Twitter @susannadonato.
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