My Great Great Uncle
When I was little,
we would walk in the mornings.
He would stroll down those asphalt sidewalks
with me,
seated upon his seventy-year-old shoulders.
When I was little,
we would go to the neighborhood playground.
We would sit on those
black plastic swings
for hours on end.
When I was little,
we would dance.
To merry tunes
that no one could understand.
But we could.
When I was little,
he would call me,
every night,
faithfully,
and listen to me play piano.
One night,
he called like he always did.
“Hello, Lyna, how are your parents?”
“They’re fine.”
“Are you doing well in school?”
“Yes.”
“Is Murray doing well in school?”
Before I could answer, he said
“Well, I must go now, I’m going out.”
“Okay. Bye, Great Great Uncle.”
“Bye, Lyna.”
I never heard from him again.
I never realized how much I lost,
until I lost him.
The man who taught me,
to swing,
to dance,
to smile and laugh,
and to live life to its fullest.
My great great uncle.
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Note from the Poet:
My great great uncle was the best. We shared wonderful memories together. We had planned to share many more in the future. That never happened.