And the last poem, it's called "There Was A Storm."
Last winter-- the storm involved is the big snowstorm
they had last winter in the east.
And during that snowstorm my uncle, whose nickname
was Bunny, had died.
And my mother called me to tell me about it.
And the two stories of the big snowstorm and my uncle's death
got confused on the telephone.
And the poem really is about that confusion.
"There was a storm so hard I can only imperfectly imagine it.
But my mother on the telephone loses her grief
for a moment to say how the houses by the shore
lost resistance, how the snow was colorless and empty,
fluid as running water.
She pauses over the wires.
'Where your brother lives,' she says.
The ocean ran right up his street and took a house away
and our uncle Bunny died.
My mother breaks down, comparing and choosing,
then lost in the thousand pretexts of words--
Uncle Bunny, who would not be touched by anything but snow--
don't get me wrong, he died a fat man
of a heart attack and far inland,
not even shoveling snow.
And now snow, by chance, covers him.
He was a fat man a long time and would not
allow a hand to touch, not even to shake his hand,
his giant overworked heart.
My mother lost her words.
It was small, a family expected death and little sentiment
around for a bachelor who would not be touched.
For a moment my mother did, then let him go."
[APPLAUSE]
Thanks.
The next reader will be Criss Cannady.