Uncle Will

You died.

And at first, when I heard the news, I was stoic.
I rocked shut and clinched my face.
Like a toddler who slams closed her eyes
in the face of a monster –
if I can’t see it, it’s not real.

But my mother’s quivering voice lingered.
And it was real.

I thought: This affects my father more than more me.
You were his best friend, his more than blood brother.

Then, the next day, though I begged it not too,
my left eye let out a continuous stream of tears.

It was allergies, I told myself.
The pollen count was quite high
and I’d been sneezing for days.
A misplaced, overactive tear duct
that was all.

But when, around lunch time,
my right eye joined my left,
I could no longer fool myself.

You died.

And I felt as though a part of me died too.

I didn’t know you, really.

I only knew the man
who smiled his Santa Claus Smile,
and winked his glistening eyes,
(eyes that I can only assume were brown,
but I really don’t remember).

The man who drove hours to my college graduation,
and presented me with a Kenneth Cole watch,
that, I think, I should have been more grateful for.

The man who carted my furniture
down four flights of stairs
and into the waiting car
when I moved to my first real apartment
in Manhattan.

The man who I loved,
only because I know my father loved you so much,
even though, as a man, I never heard him say it.

The man who, although I don’t remember,
I know held me as baby,
And dotted upon me –
I’ve seen the pictures.


You died.

And I don’t believe it.
I want to pretend you’re still alive,
traveling throughout the country,
using one of your 27 cell phones.

But I can’t.

Because I heard my father’s voice.
A voice I’ve heard so often,
yet, until now, never before.

He must have loved you a lot
to make you the godfather
of his first born child.

And I, I love you too.

It breaks my heart that only now
do I realize how much.

A Pink Day

I'm starting to think that risk, jumping head first into the unknown, is, in some instances, preferable to comfort.

Comfort is dull, monotonous, chock full of beiges and greys.

Risk is vibrant, tumultuous, decorated in harsh, smothering blacks and imposing, frightening reds, along with vivid, crazy pinks and funny, tickling yellows.

And I...I need some color in my life.

No more grey.