From Conversational, Ohio (1)

The youngest asks, respectfully, if there’s a Hallmark card for mixed emotions —

    or in what aisle he’ll find a category for     sorry about asking Grandpa     how many men he killed in the war.

The youngest sits outside, where the dogs are being entirely dogs.

Nieces cocking back into full debutante circles for the fashionable neighborhood boys   who sport grass stains fashionably.

The youngest says sorry for wanting to know what their faces looked like when they knew. If they looked like a child choking, trying to swallow a too-big-toy.

And then, familial-manhattans. Yellow-summer-lemonade —   cherry-pie-blood-stains on shirts.

Older relatives shotgunning sympathy, discussing other relatives who had recently died   can you believe the color of her headstone?         an aunt said,

her face pinched belligerently watching as the babies crayon the afternoon.

The phone rings with something important to say. A fire started,   feeding on leftover-Fall.

Grandpa in the basement Germany mapped out   in the brown-shag-carpet.