Saul Bennett
Rinkwise
I begged my wife's uncle, a physician, bent over
the rim of the Rockefeller rink on an unbearably
exquisite frozen topaz Christmas afternoon,
our others off on the ice,
to tell how our daughter appeared, I too
terrified to look some months
before in her coffin. "Well-I..."
I felt singe my face a prayerful
unguent, the essence
of St. Patrick's, originating a block away,
wafering to us
from around and through the tall buffer buildings.
"So? So?"
"Well-I..." He failed
to face me. ".. .as you might expect ~ calm.
Calm. Yes."