Uncle Ray: Hannah Jane Weber
Uncle Ray
by Hannah Jane Weber
during his small funeral in my grandparents’ living room
I hide behind the couch and discover a rip in its fabric
the adults speak of Uncle Ray’s life in long, mournful sentences
while I pluck tufts of feathers from the green brocade
and blow them like dandelion seeds
but my wishes do not bring him back
or the pieces of family he took with him when he left
we are carried away in the currents of his death
until we parachute into grief and take root in its soil
