Two Poems

Abstract

Two Poems Janet Heller (bio) Family Reunions Lisa lights the candlesand says a prayer for all of us,cousins and in-laws,grownups and newborns,Christians and Jews. As we dig into the buffet,John and Jean suggest a moment of silenceto think about those who are far from Wisconsinand can't share this Thanksgiving meal,especially my mom and Uncle Bob, the twins. The room fills with the ghosts and smells of holidays past:Aunt Ann's brunches with omelets and savory eggs,homemade cranberry bread and muffins;the turkey dinners, the rib roast dinners,the frosted cakes and cookies and soufflés;Mom lighting the candles,Uncle Bob leading the Passover service,a little kid asking the Four Questionsor stumbling over hard words in the Haggadah,Nannie feeling too cold or asking for the missing butter,a cousin announcing an engagement. In the fall, the boys had football scrimmages,Will and Ross and Paul and Joe and John and Jeff.Nancy and Jean wanted to playand fought the gender biaswithout much success. [End Page 62] Uncle Bob always told jokes,and Mom laughed for the next hour.He said he was a gentleman from the startbecause Mom was the first-born twin.How many morons does it take to make popcorn?Answer: Four—one to hold the pot and three to shake the stove.Uncle Bob claimed that he had considered investing fundsin a brand-new business: The Ted Kennedy Driving School. Sometimes Pegi combined ketchupwith peanut butter and vegetables,and the rest of us sampled her inventions.We tried a different way to eat cake,leaving the frosting for last. Joe would open the door for the prophet Elijahduring our Seder, but my cousin pretended to welcomehis favorite Green Bay Packer, Elijah Pitts. At every reunion, Dad auctioned off banana slices,Will tried to tell the joke about a man named Bowels,and Mom saved her fancy place-cards for next year. Jeff and I compare notes,realizing that we alone,the youngest and the oldest kids,lack a first cousin our age and gender. I imagine all of us together in Julyfor the twins' sixty-fifth birthday,a vast horde of three generationsno longer fitting around one table.I hope it won't rain—Somehow it always used to pourwhen the whole family came to Elkhart Lake. Now I watch five-year-old Brandon playWith his first cousin Jason,sharing a toy airplane.Then Jason refuses to leaveuntil Brandon's baby brother Zachstops crying. [End Page 63] My heart fills with lovefor this new generation of cousins.I hope they will always be as closeas we adults feel,growing up in twinned families. Synagogue Rummage Sale People bring dozens of bags and boxesstuffed with clothes, pots, glasses, jewelry,linens, suitcases, birdfeeders, books,toys, games, furniture, washing machines,bicycles, exercise equipment, and candlesticks. We women sort everything,gently fold towels and sheets and slacks,and carry items to the proper place.The social hall of the synagoguebegins to resemble a department store. When I finish unloading five boxes,Rod hauls down five more.I worry that this task will never end,that I will spend the rest of my lifeat this labor, like Sisyphus. The piles of clothes get higher and higher.We put baskets, magazines, rugs, a punch bowl setunderneath the full tables. I dispatch the wisest volunteerswith colored stickersto price unique merchandise. As I stoop to rearrange some books,the local lecherpinches my torso.I feel like hitting him in the groinwith The Joy of Cooking. The day before the sale,I dream that someone robs the synagogue, [End Page 64] stealing our money and vandalizing our treasures.I awake and race to the building,relieved to find everything safe. During the sale, we greet customers,answer their questions,pick up dropped clothes,prevent children from grabbing jewelryor breaking dishes,carry heavy items for senior citizens. Exhausted after a week of set-up and sale,I finally get a good night's sleep.Vivian phones the next...