A Funny Thing, Courage

Do…
you…
my uncle Si says to me,
struggling with his tongue,
not the delicate tip
but with the thick base
that sits inert in the back of his mouth.

Do…

you…

he tries again,
strong hand on my shoulder,
how many years since his stroke
shut down his brain like a computer in midprogram,
what remained set busily to retrain the parts of his mind
wiped out,
including his speech,
and his tongue still stubbornly sits,
as we all do, gathered at this family reunion on picnic benches,
all eyes on Si,
his finger in the air,
hanging, waiting to make his point…

The linger falters, then waves in the air
as his searching face breaks into a sly Si smile,
and he uses his original hesitation like a master of timing,
do …
you …
ever forget what you were going to say?

We roar in laughter
strong in the outburst

and I think
these are the things that enable us to endure,
this is the subtle bravery unnamed.