Irish eyes, blue, smiling a squint,

A quiet man rests peacefully

Back-glancing his journey, as He lay

Surrounded by two sons and piper’s songs,

Hands held softly, waiting… 

From Harlem to Hartford, depression to long recession,

(“always remember to boil the turkey bones after Thanksgiving for soup…”) 

He laid down his feet, whimsically at first, an angler, a fishing pole often in hands, either fly fishing, freshwater, and/or saltwater…

Cleaned fish full up in a burlap bag, on a subway car, slowly clearing… 

Begot from Her paintings, of Irish clipper ships,

a mother often rocking back in chair, smiling, 

His father, a driver of foreign dignitaries, A. Eden, by his side,

1930s secretary of the New York Times…

10th Mountain Division ski lessons in the park gave way to a generational passion, Turning the family tree branches covered soft powder white, 

Leaves becoming unfettered, in kind winter soul

Traveling often to a summer cabin on Waccabuc; 

       His study, top of his class, Columbia bound… chemistry.

Their Poems and Prose, shared in story, and bound,

A timeline of Loving communications before their Departure, 

captured for a future generation to discover…

In matted brown soft old faded album

Black, the color of His true love’s hair, her smile wide, for Her Eddy

Their meeting, some red wine, then a dance, 

From… their science intertwined, Her Tufts to His Columbia, 

To…  a broken-down car making its way to FL

A cob pipe, hanging over the rail, Irish side-smile in film

An Italian flip-side to His Irish coin, Her beautiful songs, Her piano keys, 

Her pussycat talk for an owl’s temperament, in Promise, 

they often traveled…

Traveled, walking past river’s brown Alaskan bears;

Rusty Costa Rican 4×4 stuck in the rainforest, 

monkeys staring in earnest. “Pura Vida!”

Cruising down the Volga, through Volgograd,  “Da”

A mystical family meeting in Puglia with vines, olives, and goats; “Ciao”

(A sourced vine once grew in a Waterbury backyard…) 

A stroll in County Down, with weavers, and drinkers of Mead

Then west Walking the cliffs of Moher, “Slàinte Mhath”

Two freckled and tan boys found their way within the mix; 

His leading, by following, this new adventure of two. 

Boys mastering a black and white TVs dial, to Sesame Street and beyond, 

Swimmers, early, water’s second home,

Fishing, so often, summer, no shirts covering red shoulders, baiting the hook,

Casting into Bethel’s water, “Sunnies all the way down.”

Sunday mornings Irish music filling the house and through an open window…, 

Mass at St. Peters, then 

Glaze donuts stuck to small hands, from a NY bakery’s dozen..

Winter leathered-booted, skiing on wooden hand-me down skis..

Ascutney’s ice, Okemo’s black diamond, Killington bear mountain,

Near win bingo in Ludlow, clearing the room, accidentally, 

0-70…Bingo!!!!,  -7, oops, Run! (Almost $200!)

Swimming, snorkeling in light blue fins, black masks, snorkels,

diving deep, exploring Squance Pond’s bottom.

Camping in red, white and blue musty canvas.

Cots often hovering over puddles of rain,

Cast iron stove’s awesome fare, 

spicy smell sifting through the later day’s air, 

Two boys, and sometimes friends, walk with starlit darkness, 

between the smokey red-orange dance 

of chatty campfires and 

    buttery cinnamon doughboys; 

By Day, lost in East Beach’s salty waves, 

surfing on bendy blowup mattresses, 

    leaking bubbles, between purple stinging jellies

Highlight’s monthly piano singing in the basement, water water everywhere;

Setting up the gravity pump, after storm

Garden full of giant zucchini, cracked tomatoes, 

and swiss chard served with invertebrate dinner surprises.

A used motorized, circular mower, coyfully named R2D2, 

handles, taller than boys, their chopper arms outstretched, 

Battling the summer lawn, was often broken, 

parts strewn outside the back door, then reassembled 

And functioning, only to drag

the young padawans across the green.

Short-bread xmas batches galore, recipe morphing over the decades, 

passed from family to family, Our Irish breaking of bread. 

Dinner table science talk, small steps to take, before the knowledge climb;

Genetics, biochemistry, immunology, …  discourse… 

He would leverage the richness historical past, for today, 

History He repeated in front of our young less learned eyes, and ears, 

Magic… 

emitted from a woolen patterned off-white sweater.

This scientist, inventor of sutures, a father, a husband, and a son,

A lover of historical things,

An eater of cheese,  

Providing the soft stern distance of unquestioning love,

Supporting, without structure’s underpinnings.

A Sanctioned Freedom of thought, 

is His philosophical legacy, His objectivity, 

To this part of our tree, and branches next, 

Read, listen, analyze, question, talk, repeat… 

until Truth’s opacity gives way to 

clearer empathetic understanding…

    …Finding the Middle Way… 

…A seemingly forgotten humane process from today’s polarization.

Irish blue eyes, back-glancing his journey, 

soft breath walking up the Stairway,

to His Departed love’s soft landing, 

      With the Southeast Lighthouse beaconing,

to Her softly brown Island shores with arms outstretched,

With a bottomless glass of red wine, 

mostly Cabernet,

And waiting for their kilted dance to begin… 

again.

(c) Owen McCusker 2024