For Greg, for us all

Reading the tea leaves afterwards
we sort through the daily images of work life
poring over every word uttered
            every word not uttered.

Archaeologists now, dusting off
the shards with feather brushes
washing them with tears
as if from them we can know.

I have a Hershey Kiss in my top drawer
a sweet sentry, sitting in silent tribute.
The laminated phone lists he created
lying there among the credit cards and photos
exclaim a simple eulogy each time we find each other.

Careful work formality now shattered,
in the hall, at the fax machine, in white-walled offices,
in dark rain night cab rides, in those
interstitial times, we take refuge
from a loss no research, no argument can resolve.

A civil war in the private heart
a secession from the body, yields
a haunting inventory of our daily conduct --
     was I carrying a life line?

So now, confronted with the vast unknowable human heart
we vow for a while to be more tolerant --
to be better parents to our children,
better children to our parents,
better colleagues, better lovers, better spouses, better friends.

In this way too perhaps we mourn him
and celebrate his life and how he touched us.


                           Marie-Therese Connolly
                           August, 1996