It All Matters

As I grew up there were brilliant paintings all over my house.
They varied in size, style, location, and time.
One by one I’d ask where each was from.
Mahogany wood frame, a venetian canal portrayed in surrealism. By Eric.
3 depictions of the houses we moved between. By Eric
A monarch butterfly, painted begrudgingly because he doesn’t do
close ups. My mom asked for years, and one day it just showed up. By Eric.

Eventually I realized they were all by Eric.
Surrounding our house with his creativity and beauty,
with the way he saw the world.
The way his eyes recognized its grandeur.

My favorite artist and we own so many of the collection.
I knew him briefly as my grandfather,
and I’ll know him forever.

My parents said one day I can have all of the paintings,
now placed carefully on a vast black wall to give
him his gallery in our museum. I hate to think one day
that will happen, and they’d have a reason to not need them any more.
My mom said it’ll be when “well, you know”; both of us afraid
to say the word that means forever.

But, but… I delight that eventually my future kid
will have that same day for themselves,
and every Buesnel will know and love Eric.

We look up, afraid of their passing,
they look down happy to have loved so fully
and created so much that cannot be forgotten.