The Red Letters
In ancient Rome, feast days were indicated on the calendar by red letters.
To my mind, all poetry and art serves as a reminder that every day we wake together beneath the sun is a red-letter day.
––Steven Ratiner
Red Letter Poem #193
Unveiling in Snow
(to my sister)
Because you and I never did sit on a park bench
chatting, or stroll happily along rowdy city streets
browsing, or hopscotch chalked sidewalks together,
or read the same articles or books; and because
in our so-called adult lives, we never sang together
except all of us at family birthdays; never said things
that implied love; also because, though for years
we shared our childhood bedroom, the twin spool beds
our mother doggedly sanded and refinished, we didn’t—
that I remember—share jokes or sisterly confidences;
because I was older, I who unwittingly determined
what we were together—we were more separate
in our bond than our differences would have made
inevitable; because together we weathered the tempests
of our mother’s house—because because because
because I can’t say the cause, these words I keep to myself
this raw February day your stone’s unveiled—I,
the elder, this Gail who tried to exonerate herself then,
still trying to forgive herself now.
––Gail Mazur
Concerning the loss of someone dear to us––and between the time of the burial ceremony and the placement of a headstone––a certain interval must occur. There seems to be less regulation in Christian practice about how long this period must be. But in the Jewish tradition, the ‘unveiling’ ceremony––a familial gathering where the carved grave marker is uncovered, formally dedicated, and celebrated with prayer––takes place sometime between the end of Sheloshim (the first month of mourning) and Yahrzeit (the anniversary of that death.) And in that gap, the bereaved are undergoing a sort of transformation: having first removed themselves from their customary day-to-day existence, they are focused on fully experiencing the absence of the deceased; then slowly, over time, they are both ritualizing remembrance while preparing to fully return to the communal world. Case in point: Gail Mazur’s new poem is a lyrical meditation about the tribulations of sisterhood and the unfathomability of loss. Having lost three sisters of my own, how could I not be captivated by Gail’s poetic unburdening––though, being male, I know the emotional connection to my siblings was different from what sisterhood entails. But the poem, in its cyclical attempts at definition and expiation, will likely feel like familiar territory to anyone who has had to bury a loved one and was left to come to terms with all that follows.
Gail, I’m sure, needs little introduction to Red Letter readers; her eight fine volumes have become mainstays of contemporary poetry. In 2020 she published Land’s End: New and Selected Poems (University of Chicago Press) which amply displays the richness and refined sensibility of this highly-regarded poet. I would like to note, though, that she also had an exceptional career as a teacher of young writers––in Boston University’s MFA program and at the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown. And as founder of the Blacksmith House Poetry Series (still going strong after five decades), she created an honored institution where both acclaimed and emerging talents could engage with the literary community and offer their new work.
In today’s poem, I found myself taken by the litany of that word because, each mention heralding another new glimpse into the lives of these two girls––an agenda dominated (by the speaker’s own admission) by the strong will of that older sister. Did you feel that tension between control and surrender all through the poem? It’s as if the piece was trying to hold back some of the tidal guilt that now spills over the dam of old justifications. The diction of the piece swings back and forth between a rational, almost legalistic tone (“because, though for years/ we shared our childhood bedroom. . .we didn’t—// that I remember—share jokes or sisterly confidences”), and the more expected childhood parlance of “rowdy city streets” and “chalked sidewalks” for games of hopscotch. This inner conflict seems to both activate and undercut the thought process unfolding until, with that hammering iambic “because because because// because”, the barrier begins to crumble. Even the tightly-bundled tercets must give way, at the end, for one solitary survivor estranged from the body of the poem. Perhaps this piece suggests that, over and over––as the memories return to us, as the poem is read and reread, as snows blanket the land and then withdraw––we experience a succession of unveilings, each one bringing us a little closer to the devastating psychic wounds we all carry, even as we make another small gesture toward healing, toward that elusive forgiveness, and the possibility of peace.
Red Letters 3.0
* If you would like to receive these poems every Friday in your own in-box – or would like to write in with comments or submissions – send correspondence to:
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* To learn more about the origins of the Red Letter Project, check out an essay I wrote for Arrowsmith Magazine:
https://www.arrowsmithpress.com/community-of-voices
and the Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene
http://dougholder.blogspot.com
* For updates and announcements about Red Letter projects and poetry readings, please follow me on Twitter
@StevenRatiner
