On Eunice Shriver's Passing

The fine wood grain is clear
in the digitized perfection
of cable TV,
a flowerless casket
borne by adult children
of Eunice Kennedy Shriver,
esteemed humanitarian,
passionate woman,
and “Mummy” to the
five pall bearers.


The strength of their love
might have been magic enough
to breathe her back into this world,
yet they were letting her go
as no doubt she taught them to do,
the handsome quintet speaking in praise
of intimate connection to her,
of Eunice as mother,
nineteen grandchildren
offering sweet goodbyes.
She had needed no frills,
no adornment, was
as she was, statement and blessing.
What more can a mother want
than to be wholly who she is
and still loved, indeed cherished,
by her children? Held blameless
in death.


Eunice Shriver talked
with her grownup children
every day
sometimes more than once.
They exchanged the gift
of giving a mighty damn
about one another.


They did not refer one another
to Facebook or a web site; they
spoke, voice to voice, heart to heart.


When my lively presence
is no more, when even
my essence no longer lingers,
what will you see?


Perhaps a frightened young woman
whistling through the graveyard
of lost innocence,
determined to do her best by you.


Will you ever see courage
in the woman’s risk--
believing hope over history--
trying even harder
to bring enough love
to make the marriage work
a second time?
To give you both mother and father
at a dinner table
and ...


Will you realize my mistake
was not leaving the marriage
but re-entering it
in the first place,
wanting it so much for you?
I know it was hard for you.
I know.


I believe Eunice understood
that a woman must nourish
her own spirit
first, keep it alive--
only that brings wholeness.


May you know wholeness.
May you know joy in marriage.
May your paternal love
flourish, far from the mine fields
of resentment.

                    ~  August 15, 2009