She told me she didn’t know
who Marlon Brando was.
Call waiting confused her,
but she could speak eloquently
about the Incas, Chopin’s
Nocturnes, how to caramelize
dates. Marg was one note
though Margaret, like a dance,
a sonata, was her given name.
She had a ready laugh, knew
what was funny, not a joke maker
but a joke taker, her face welling up
with all the laughter in the room
tears spilling from her eyes
laughing after the others had stopped.
She got it. She knew. She loved
her dogs, her house. These are only
some things to say about Marg.
She was always kind to me,
her eyes bright and listening.
She surprised us all.