Uncles remember I would, a provoked tambourine,
Clumsily run to my grandfather with the delight
Typically stirred by a festival scene.
This was (his eulogist softly submits)
Fitting, since grandpa’s refined-as-rosettes,
Special proximity outlined a festival site.
There is a city established & peopled on my
Substance’s fruitful interior named after you,
Which in turn tenders its name to nearby
Wadis, a species of cyclamen, and
Grandly the battle securing the land
That would accommodate later the city’s debut.
Also named after the city that’s named after you,
Certain peculiar folkways, including the cool,
Levantine tenor inflecting the blue
Cast of the curtain protecting the ark,
Down to the humidly spherical, dark
Melodies used to address the Creator of All.
Custom has rendered it utterly tasteless to brace
Newborns with names of relations who live. But a glade?
Butterfly? Chemical process? A place?
Puzzled with mourning, I saunter the street,
Taken to visit, adore the discrete
Travertine cornerstone laid on the day I was made.
Townsmen, however, uncoiled in groves where the ewe
Sleeps under fig trees that made a disgrace out of me,
Hadn’t a clue that they hadn’t a clue,
Lounging where carob sprays grade into blue
(Certain not even their gravediggers knew)
As to what part of speech “threnody” might even be.