Who calls them to come?

At four in the afternoon I sit in my orchid

bower and watch a black squirrel climb up

a sparse tree and jump like a performer in

Cirque du Soleil to a coconut palm as high

as a light station at Fenway Park.  Fearless.

In a window all but demolished by termites

a black and yellow bumblebee emerges and

heads back to his hive.  Has he been gold

bricking it all day?  Maybe.

Today, my wife’s grandfather had his one year

funeral.   When he was dying my wife brought

him into the house by the refrigerator and laid

him out like a Civil War boy who knew

he was dying and simply said, Fix me. She put

some flowers in his hand.

For one-hundred and three years Chuwat  had

said no and no again, but finally at four in the

afternoon probably wondering why he had  flowers

in his hand he said, “Yes,” and then “oh Yes.”

FG           8/3/2015

Picture on the left is Chunky’s grandfather who died a year ago today at 103.  Picture on the right is his wife whose name I don’t know.  She died years ago.   The Thais have the original funeral and then one at 100 days and one year.