“Jack’s dead”, Jenny said.
“Died at 8 am.”
For a moment I am numb,
Then I remember Jen.
“I’m so sorry,” I say with passion. Without comment, in her fashion, Jen hangs up the phone,
And I am left alone.
Angrily I ask God why
Jack had to die,
Leave a widow to grieve,
Daughters, a sister and brothers, Friends and others,
And the answer came:
He’d been in pain
So long it was gain.
At night Gerry screams
As the death-train in his dreams Hurtles through.
On Joe’s cheek there’s a tear At some times of the year
When Jack’s memory flashes anew.
But Jack’s face on the wall, Weather-beaten and all,
Smiles crookedly down at me. I’m not bereft.
Jack hasn’t left.
His spirit is running free.
Jack’s on the wind of every storm That blows in from the sea. Jack’s in the sun and in the tide. Jack talks in the sea-swell to me. Where we scraped oysters from rocks by the bay, Or ate fish and chips along the cay,
Where we climbed Grandma’s hill or walked the pier, By the pool, or under the gnarled frangipani tree, Jack’s still there.