Aunt Eleanor
She is my best friend, Aunt Eleanor.
She is like candy, sweet and you always want more.
She is my mom’s sister; they don’t look alike.
She is our neighbor too.
She said she didn’t
have any children because I was plenty.
Plenty of what is what I thought.
Her nightly back scratch is soothing like melted molasses.
When she stops, I’m lonely as a ghoul
because I know she will go.
Her hair is worn snatched up in a ponytail
pulling her eyes tight like a knot. When she wears
green it pulls those perfect blue eyes straight
to me.
She is not pretty, she is beautiful, like a Barbie
with a pink car. She’s kinder than any friend at my school.
On Monday mom came and got me from school
at one o’clock. On the way home she said
something I didn’t understand. She said
Aunt Eleanor had a stroke. Mom held
my sticky hands in Eleanor’s room.
I missed her eyes that shined like sparklers on the fourth.
Then her eyes closed and all the other eyes cried.
I don’t know the name for it at six.
It is like a lightning bug that lost her light.
It is like when Buster’s tail stops wagging.
Mom said it is sorrow.
Dad said it is grief.
I say it is alone.
Aunt Eleanor
She is my best friend, Aunt Eleanor.
She is like candy, sweet and you always want more.
She is my mom’s sister; they don’t look alike.
She is our neighbor too.
She said she didn’t
have any children because I was plenty.
Plenty of what is what I thought.
Her nightly back scratch is soothing like melted molasses.
When she stops, I’m lonely as a ghoul
because I know she will go.
Her hair is worn snatched up in a ponytail
pulling her eyes tight like a knot. When she wears
green it pulls those perfect blue eyes straight
to me.
She is not pretty, she is beautiful, like a Barbie
with a pink car. She’s kinder than any friend at my school.
On Monday mom came and got me from school
at one o’clock. On the way home she said
something I didn’t understand. She said
Aunt Eleanor had a stroke. Mom held
my sticky hands in Eleanor’s room.
I missed her eyes that shined like sparklers on the fourth.
Then her eyes closed and all the other eyes cried.
I don’t know the name for it at six.
It is like a lightning bug that lost her light.
It is like when Buster’s tail stops wagging.
Mom said it is sorrow.
Dad said it is grief.
I say it is alone.