Unk

I remember you

propped high in the an old easy chair,

showing me old coins and

mysterious rocks that glistened on the inside.

I called you Unk.

Later I would learn you were

my Grandpa's twin brother.

A Jew. A Homosexual. A Sailor.

Hair all gone at sea-

rough yet gentle hands.

Children do not know these things.

Did you know the things I know,

the narrow back alleys in old Baltimore neighborhoods

as familiar as my Grandmother's pie?

You took care of her until you died

a kind replacement to a husband lost

to a failing heart.

Did you have lovers in foreign lands

quiet love that relied on common language?

Were you called the Jew?

They called you happy.

You were the first leaf to fall from my

sturdy tree, now deep in Autumn-

rich now its summer.

If I could only grasp the roots

distress map them in memories.

You had so many names. Uncle Isadore

On the ship you were Shappy,

Izzy during Shul

Unk to your happy niece

You could be anyone.

Late night Canasta games

in your last years

I don't remember your funeral-

just a hushed goodbye in

a dark hospital room

Did you look like my Grandfather,

will you give me the gift of twin birth?

I was the only little girl

in your life,

and I will remember you.