A sliver of each other's hearts

My cousin, Mark

My cousin Mark, center, with lots of my other cousins, aunts, uncles, siblings and my mom

When you are 55
and your phone rings
and it's your cousin Cherie
from Minnesota calling
what are the chances
it's good news?

Mark died, 
so unexpected.
Her voice direct and
practical, skirting
grief for both of us.
She hands me 
the news
like an old time 
phone tree,
one cousin to another  
pass it on,
so none'd have to 
hear it from an obit link
on Facebook.

After we process the news,
with Mark eavesdropping 
over the miles, we shift to 
"so how's the kiddos"
and "what's Al up to,"
sipping on the details
-- we take half an hour
maybe or so to say
how much it means 
to own a sliver of each
other's hearts --
Cherie unwraps family 
tidbits for me to
chew on, sweet and tangy:
how in the last few years
Mark called her more often,
softening, fitting better into
his gentle demeanor
making good use of 
his arms 
reaching out--

"no matter what happens
you love them.
they're your brothers"
Cherie and I  
mmm hmmm
in unison into the
magic metal and glass
rectangles that, for 
a brief window,
stitch us together
in past and present,
in before and after
in hope and hurry
and wishes come true,
the way cousins do.

---

Me, my sister Ann, and Cherie, 1977

Mark, you will be missed.