One nephew at the altar about to be married,

the Big Lake behind him. An iron ore

freighter in our view, the Lake its carrier.

Voluptuous waves smash against the

pier, wind lifts the water

to its heavens. Your

father, dead now for more than half

your lives, making his presence known.

Visions of your Dad with you

as boys seep out in my tears. His love

at hand, in his hands. (I see him sashay by, waving to us.)

The older nephew, even taller, standing

in the row of groomsmen. We watch, his aunts, uncles,

and cousins, assessing his face.  I strain to

show my love and joy to 

one nephew, the groom, and my support and care to

the brother who mustered all his will and

might to understand the day, to absorb

its meaning. Such insight eludes him, like wind

held in our hands.

(Over and over he asked me what the day meant. A marriage,

a wedding, his brother, what will happen now? My answers

futile, like the algae catching the freighter's underside.) 

We, his elders, ache for him

but see

in his terrible burden such abiding love

even, grace. His brain whispers the secrets

we can't hear as he 

careens through each day. His reality

moving like ten TV screens in front of him, all

at full sound, never turned off. 

Oh, nephews. Your lives as

close together as water against

fish. Your trials as big and deep

as the Lake's water.