September 1999 
Some times pockets of deep grief
Some times pockets of deep grief
hide inside our house.
Tonight my mother, who
Tonight my mother, who
never cries, remembers.
In this house – Jacob’s house –
In this house – Jacob’s house –
her older brother and sister
die of cholera. The same day.
Sept. 2, 1921.
Eldon is 5 ½.
Mildred Annie just 4.
Fear filled. Neighbours will not come and touch the children.
The dread of carrying cholera home to their own
Ripe in their bones.
Violet, at 27, has to bathe, dress and place
this tender part of her own body in their coffin.
A child just turning 3, Elsie watches once again
through young eyes as her mother carries Eldon,
her firstborn, down the stairs through the narrow
threshold into the sun-drenched dining room.
Placing his small body upon
the table, Violet turns to Florrie:
“Take her out of here and shut the door.”
Eighty-one years later, in her mind’s eye
Elsie see and hears. As clearly as if it is today.
Two days later, on her 3rd birthday, the children are buried.
Carried from the funeral in Jacob’s house out the front door
To the waiting hearse pulled by two small shining black horses.
Perfect matching pair. Not a white hair on their bodies.
Watching Mildred and Eldon’s coffin disappear
around the corner of the house, young Elsie vows
She will go and find them.
At supper that night, Grandmother Ida sits at table
Arch, the children’s father, to her left.
To her right – her own children grown
Florrie, Bert and Irving.
Next to Arch, Violet puts Elsie in the small wooden high chair.
“Poor little thing,” Ida says. “It’s her birthday
And she hasn’t even got a cake.”
“That’s alright,” Violet responds. “She will never remember.”
Elsie does not tell her mother that she knows.
Today she recalls sharply each event
Sept. 2, 1921.
Eldon is 5 ½.
Mildred Annie just 4.
Fear filled. Neighbours will not come and touch the children.
The dread of carrying cholera home to their own
Ripe in their bones.
Violet, at 27, has to bathe, dress and place
this tender part of her own body in their coffin.
A child just turning 3, Elsie watches once again
through young eyes as her mother carries Eldon,
her firstborn, down the stairs through the narrow
threshold into the sun-drenched dining room.
Placing his small body upon
the table, Violet turns to Florrie:
“Take her out of here and shut the door.”
Eighty-one years later, in her mind’s eye
Elsie see and hears. As clearly as if it is today.
Two days later, on her 3rd birthday, the children are buried.
Carried from the funeral in Jacob’s house out the front door
To the waiting hearse pulled by two small shining black horses.
Perfect matching pair. Not a white hair on their bodies.
Watching Mildred and Eldon’s coffin disappear
around the corner of the house, young Elsie vows
She will go and find them.
At supper that night, Grandmother Ida sits at table
Arch, the children’s father, to her left.
To her right – her own children grown
Florrie, Bert and Irving.
Next to Arch, Violet puts Elsie in the small wooden high chair.
“Poor little thing,” Ida says. “It’s her birthday
And she hasn’t even got a cake.”
“That’s alright,” Violet responds. “She will never remember.”
Elsie does not tell her mother that she knows.
Today she recalls sharply each event
of that long ago September.
Knife-keen moments
chiseled in thin ice.
The next morning when Florrie takes her outdoors,
they visit each corner of the barn. Cow mangers.
The haymow. Horse stall and outbuildings.
Knife-keen moments
chiseled in thin ice.
The next morning when Florrie takes her outdoors,
they visit each corner of the barn. Cow mangers.
The haymow. Horse stall and outbuildings.
Opening every door . . .
Looking for the lost children.
1 comment:
I could never understand how Nanny (Violet) could be so sad when she would speak of her dead children. After her death, in cleaning out her things, we came across a box with a picture of the dear little boy and girl....and I remember crying. And then I understood....
What I had thought of as dead children.....we dear loved beloved firstborn son and firstborn daughter, not just "children", but dear walking talking dolls...and it ripped my heart out, and still seeing the pictures makes me recall my attitude, and the moment that I knew I would never take for granted the death of anyone again.
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