Shlee Vincent

On Portraits of People

As read on May 30, 2009 Harvey Nathaniel Vincent’s Memorial Service:

On Portraits Of People

He turned away, slowly

and she didn’t notice.

Although it was painful, it was expected;

but to her it felt like it happened in an instant.

It wasn’t the first.

When she was born, she thought she had forever.

That everyone she would ever need was right there

in her circle.

Always there,

no matter how far away.

Despite the expanded web around her,

she didn’t feel quite the same.

As one circle drew closer, it felt emptier

because he had always been there.

The old man was one of the few she’d always known to be constant.

He didn’t mean to,

but he had to.

It was time

and something she needed to grow.

He writhed in pain and as his body became iron-cast, he made himself look away.

No one noticed that he continued to peek through the eyes in the back of his head.

At least he isn’t suffering

but couldn’t he have waited one more day?

She felt dizzy.

He (her father, his son) wished he could have said good bye.

She (her grandmother and his wife) had been preparing for a long time.

She was most ready, but it was hard on her, too.

Rest now, merry gentleman.

You’ll  now have no nightmares in your sleep

but, also, no lady to kiss your cheek,

to wipe your tears and

calm your shrieks.

She’s waiting for the day that she’ll see you again

so the neighbors upstairs can gawk and

stare just like they did the first time.

They had been involved in this romantic affair

that would have been deemed at the time

A Scandal

so important to a family

but because of frivolous youth,

it’s as if no one needs to hear.

But the affair ended many years later

in death,

after a wedding

and two children plus two grandchildren.

As one web expanded, another collapsed.

When a piece from the center wiggles free,

everything gets thrown.

It’s all off balance.

The huddle waxes and wanes

and the wounded and disoriented soldiers recuperate

and recoil, knowing deep down that everything was right.

The young girl – though she had already grown –

felt no  other urge than to crawl on hands and knees.

She felt comfort in distraction

his family couldn’t be there for him.

Her father was a child once

and the old war  veteran took him to the beach.

The little boy danced as the sand scalded his feet.

Her father chuckled behind him and when the umbrella was up

and their bodies were cooled and covered in sticky sand,

together they scraped the sand into buckets,

collected seashells and other beachy adornments

just to build a palace in which they could never live.

He sat on the inside as they built the castle around him

so that he could be king.

When the sun went down, father carried son home

and the castle stood until the tide came in.

Logically,

life is the blink of an eye, the snap of a shutter.

As quickly as the houses show and disappear from the windows of trains, moments seem to linger

and eventually manage to fade.

The memories kept the family laughing

and the stories kept the old man alive..

The young girl did grow into an old woman

and with her brush, she painted a colorful portrait

that they hung on the wall

and years after she died would put in the attic

like all the rest

for they never knew the figure.

After all, it was just taking up space.

R.I.P. Opop. We love you.

January 12, 2009.