By Sara Kandler
rainbow tendrils flail in the wind
catch on the maple tree knobs
a gift we brought you back from
a day at the beach
fish meant to fly
pinned lifeless to your bookshelf
now hangs by our driveway
ribbons twist and tear
struggle in the gusts like
you bent over your red walker
back torqued like the fish hook of the Outer Cape
aching knees give out at a moment’s notice
one fall and I’m gone
you taunted with a mischievous grin
your favorite truism
don’t
get
old
or the rare compliment
you done good
and the one about the cabbie who declared
let me be the foist ta congratulatchas
you and mom settling in for the ride downtown
dressed to the nines
such a handsome couple
no one could deny
still you bemoaned your cavern deep
loneliness
no real friends
no one cared
a boy sent into the unknown for
safety’s sake
your arm flailing outside the train window
auf wiedersehen you’re forced
to say
grey pea coat
brown valise
twisted heart
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