ice divers

winter marsh

quagga

Sixty-some years ago you were with her in a group enjoying a word game,
High school coupling, she of the professor’s daughter pedigree,
You of the two room schoolhouse learning, running with your charm and wit,
And you remember the moment to this day, telling us the story.

All the letters had been used and played except “quagga”
Leading you to declare that there must be such a word,
And you all looked in the dictionary and there it was,
Some obsolete Afrikaans for an extinct mammal.

Such delight, everyone “rolling on the floor with laughter,”
That moment remembered a lifetime later.
And today my high school daughter delights to hear this expression,
She of the instant messaging ROFL’ing acronym.

Today she and I join you two in a game of Quiddler,
Your choice for how to enjoy the afternoon,
A distraction from the cancer taking her from you,
And I see how much you both enjoy the friendly competition.

She has had a distressing turn earlier, her body failing her.
After she cleans up, she says “I never experienced that before
In my whole life and I hope I never do again!”
Don’t we all wish that and wish we were not helpless against it.

We all help together in the game for each of us to maximize our scores
And she ends up with the high score and you feign chagrin.
It’s all part of the game. And I realize it is this lifelong delight in gaming
You share with her that is the better answer to my question earlier.

It is your sixtieth anniversary next week.
I asked “What is the secret to your long happy marriage,”
Me, the owner of two failed marriages.
You gave a silly answer that she married a saint.

Oh sure! The saint with your first child born when you
Were still in college, broke, playing poker through the night
To win enough to pay the charges
So she could be released from the hospital.

No, she is the saint, uncomplaining
Staying in the game today gallantly,
Holding on as best she can to the QE2 vision,
That you might have that spring cruise together.

sunday morning