In Memory of Uncle Leon

Resting in his armchair one Sunday afternoon
Uncle Leon dozed and chose to die.
I say “chose”, for he’d lived through Auschwitz
And was a man who did things his own way,
In his own time, when he was ready.

To me, always his pitseleh,
He only ever made three faces:
One lifted eyebrow with vertical lines
At its inner end meant: “What you doing, boy?
You think that’s a good thing to do?”

Both eyebrows raised and the slightest
Downturn at the ends of his mouth said,
With no need for words,
“Go on, surprise me then! Show me
Something I haven’t seen already!”

And when I did surprise and please him,
The eyes would close, the head go back
And his mouth opening to a generous O,
Letting out gusts of coughing laughter and
“You’ve no idea how funny that is, little one!”

That Sunday when I saw him, silent & still,
It was the third expression that was set
And I wonder more and more, as I grow older,
What was it, Uncle Leon, at the last
You thought was such a joke?

pitseleh: little one.