After his stroke, your uncle
could only say the words
yes, no, shit and Jesus,
but he could say them
a hundred different ways.
For example, when I teased him
about voting for Hillary Rodham Clinton—
he was conservative and detested her—
he stretched the savior’s name
like taffy and sprinkled it with venom.
His voice was a car, a convertible,
slowing down for a speed bump:
“JeeeeeeeeeeZusssssssssss.”
A two-syllable word lasted
at least five seconds.
“How touching!” I exclaimed.
“A true believer. Now,
open that wallet of yours
and send Hillary some money.”
“Shit!” he said—the sound
like a finch against the window.
His mouth was a minister
called in to marry the words
shush and hit (the couple
had already started fighting).
We got along perfectly well
with this narrow lexicon.
I marveled at his joy.
He was like the guy
who learned to play
Beethoven with power tools.
Or he was like Georges Perec
writing a novel without
the letter “e.” Who really
needs it anyway?
—Ralph James Savarese
Ralph James Savarese is the author of three books of poetry, most recently (with Stephen Kuusisto) Someone Falls Overboard: Talking through Poems.
