The Good Bits... A poem to Karen / Al Bergstein (Husband)
The Good Bits
The phone rang and the funeral director told me
That the remains of my wife
Were ready to be picked up.
Since it was a warm sunny day
I asked him if they could fit in my backpack
He said they would
To get there I had to ride uphill
“fitting” I thought, after the battle of the last two years
But the reward was in the small plastic box
That I lovingly placed in my green backpack.
It weighed a little less than a newborn would
And so it seemed that I was carrying her around again
It occurred to me that it would be fun
To ride her through the town she loved
And do the things we hadn’t been able to do
For so long
We coasted down the long hill
Turned right into the boatyard
Through the projects, so much like the one
That had brought us together
Many years ago
The small day sailer
That nurtured our dreams and son
One sat there just now
Teak shining brass bright
But it was more money than I wanted to spend
Tomorrow, we’ll see
We rode on to her favorite coffeehouse
Took a table outside
I put her box on the chair next to mine
Laid my bike helmet on it
Ordered two espressos
The clerk looked at me oddly
The radio was playing
That old Van Morrison song
I haven’t heard it in a long while
I drank both drinks
One at a time
As we left
I bussed the table
Putting dishes away
Noticed a man
With his laptop open
An image of an ultrasound
The womb with baby inside
It occurred to me
That it was her
Coming back
To the harbor with the boat festival underway
Festive flags flying in the breeze
All the dreams for sailing
That would go unfulfilled
But she always loved looking
So we did
On the Point I mentioned to her
That it was here we had dug the crab apple tree
Moving it from bad ground and certain destruction
To a loving home in our backyard
As she had done in her work
Saving children from many fates
We cycled home past the food co-op
Where she had armed herself for the battle
Hand to hand combat with the demon inside
Her vitamins, minerals, potions, organic foods
She had tried it all, but it was bigger than that
And usually is.
So we returned home
To the place she loved
with the water in the distance
Where I had opened the door as she lay dying
Because I thought that’s what she would want
to smell the sea and hear the birds
Thousands of nights under the stars
The night spent with the moon on the Khyber Pass.
Our son and I built a fire
After the sky had grown pink
Watched the embers rise
Surrounded by the firs that comforted her
As she faded from here
Thought about the potter friend
Who had lost her sister and parents
Had decided to watch her father’s cremation
Deep in the night alongside the kiln
she was told by the attendant
That Laotian women look in the hot ashes of their loved ones
For small green stones
they call “the good bits”
the person’s good deeds
Fish them out and save them for good luck
The ashes from our fire circled
vanishing into the stars
Her spirit dancing on them
We walked to the pond nearby
Dug the hole they said we couldn’t dig
Placed her in it and sat
Coyotes howling through the timber
Frogs singing in the night
Al Bergstein
September 2005
Draft 5
copyright 2005 Al Bergstein
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