Hello my dear sister. We are having a Passover gathering here this evening — a night when everyone could get together. Your children and mine plus my two grandkids, minus you, your fleshy hugs of great aunthood denied them.
Craig wrote a poem about great aunts after you died. It is handwritten on a box high on my closet shelf, where it waited, signed 'sometime in 2002, Key West.' The souls of great aunts — 'a kind of family resemblance that no force can suppress.' He spoke to the plump and softness of being; a jump, a curve. To birth, the in between, and afterwards — you and he now rejoined along with the might of ages — the great aunts. Oh Carole, sister, mother, great aunt, love of our lives, the grief unceasing.
Craig wrote a poem about great aunts after you died. It is handwritten on a box high on my closet shelf, where it waited, signed 'sometime in 2002, Key West.' The souls of great aunts — 'a kind of family resemblance that no force can suppress.' He spoke to the plump and softness of being; a jump, a curve. To birth, the in between, and afterwards — you and he now rejoined along with the might of ages — the great aunts. Oh Carole, sister, mother, great aunt, love of our lives, the grief unceasing.
