Learning from the Dead

His arms were
where he left them.
Not in defense of self,
but
Doing what he loved
while dying.



Doing.
The right hand gripping a big stainless steel spoon
Stirring a pot of collard greens
The air filled with the aroma of smoked ham hocks spaghetti sauce turkey and dressing sweet potato pies hot and fresh out the oven
His daughter, granddaughter, and me, his grandson,
Our mouths having been watered
Since before we even made the 65 mile trek to his Chicago home .
I’ve learned from the dead.
From him now.
In the presence of suits form-fitting black dresses matching wide-brimmed black hats white handkerchiefs and tears
I remember a homeless woman with two little children in tow
Making herself known
Speaking kindly of him
In his coffin
She (and her kids)
having been fed
anytime they were hungry.
By him;
I learned more about him dead
-

Wanting to be like him-

Alive.


-- by alexgeorge