I can see them all again,
As if in an old newsreel
Under that red striped umbrella,
Though they’ve all passed on.
My father in his beach chair
Hidden behind his New York Times,
My mother smiling in her blue swimsuit
Hair slicked back—ocean wet—
Slathering sunscreen on her smooth skin.
And the Ferrari’s are there too, Rose and Nino,
A Lucky Strike between Nino’s fingers,
As he passes around sausage and pepper sandwiches,
Rose pours iced tea into little red cups.
As she reaches out with her hand
To touch the arm of everyone she talks to.
My brother Allen in his beach ball-colored trunks
Stands in the sun, transistor radio to his ear,
Seems to look toward me, as if for me
To remember him through the long seasons.
I marvel at memory’s gifts, like an old letter found,
And walk on, immersed in fondness and grief,
Life and time vivid even as it fades.
