A Tribute to my Brother Charlie
butterscotch swirl bowling ball
the sound of a bowling alley the sound of a powerful waterfall
falling lacy waters flying insects in the breeze
deep blue sky of summer deep lead clouds of summer
wet and chill and the smell after summer a thundershower bees on clover and being careful
grass in toes that gets tracked inside white carpet of youth
I miss Charlie, who was allergic to bees, tracked the wet grass onto mom’s white carpet, watched waterfalls and insects with me in every sky, had our first independences together backpacking and riding our bikes seven miles to El Camino to bowl; my ten-speed was stolen there. Ice cream back then had swirls in it. Marble was a novelty but chalk was not. Nothing is white or black. Not life, not death. All stories lead to Charlie.
Happy birthday in two hours. You’d be sixty-six; I know, because I’ll be sixty-five this year.
I think of you even when I don’t.
Beautiful Barb and thank you for sharing this tribute to Charlie. I think of him daily but especially today. Sending hugs,
Thanks, Laura. I’m glad you think of him, too. Sending hugs back your way, Barb
Well done, Barb. You capture the essence of a beautiful series of memories and vivid images of the things we remember. Charlie with a crooked hat, looking in on me with a fastball we both knew was magic in what it could release… Capture, release, improve. Mark Fischer Colbrie and I were talking about Charlie running to work.
Thanks, Rex. It’s great to read your more boyish take. Me and Charlie and insects in the air, you and him and fastballs and all that striving to improve. It’s nice to know you and Mark still think of him, too. We’re all such a big network, aren’t we!