What I Wanted, and: Our Lady of Victory Church

What I Wanted

I wanted to lift you up, especially you, Patricia M.,from a state next to mine—for your dog, Logan Blue,

who gets an obituary note, and for your high schoolprom date, Jim Vash, whom you must have loved

but who doesn't seem to be the father of your fourkids. I wanted to celebrate with confetti and to know,

to pronounce my name, over and over, with deathin the back of my throat, to imagine the forthcoming lines

written for me, perhaps, woven with a dog's nameor two, leavened with a humorous note, a poem,

cinched by the belt of numerous towns I lived in, menand others whom I loved. Can the list go on?

I wanted to name books that bowled me over, birds I sawor held, countries I flew to, oceans and deep lakes

waded in or swum across, slopes I skied at midnight,food I couldn't live without. O earth, O trees.

Our Lady of Victory Church

Out of a gingko leaf, a scrap of river birch bark,out of a morning that sparkles, icicle drip and sun,

out of details that called to you the way peeperswill start chorusing in Lamberton Creek, soon,

"we're here, we're alive," so the few obitparagraphs tell so many lives, ones worth

knowing—except it's too late. And isn't it too latefor you, too, to reflect? Mrs. Clark of Hyannis Port,

no maiden name, no mention of where you began.Living near the water, you recently persuaded friends

to donate sails to be recycled for sustenance fishermenin Haiti. Only sixty years old at time of your death.

Wherever we end, the date, or time, let's listen upand get to work! Sail on, bright boats through

Caribbean waters—pull in a fish, unhooking the lurefrom a red snapper's lip—and let smoke rise from coals,

later, enjoying the flavors of a glorious final feast.She's the one to whom we'll lift a glass.