Pallbearer by Richard Weaver

The weight remains
in my hands, that first
uncalloused memory
of death known.
My father’s father
gone to grave, to dust
but not ashes.
The first time
I’d been asked,
honored, I knew then
and now, to help carry
a strong man to grave.
A large man shrunken
by life, outweighed by grief
and the constant pain
of shingles. My two brothers
and me, my father
and his one leg gamely
helping us carry his father
more memory than man,
making our slow way
to the graveside
where Truitt would lay.
Ninety-three years
pushing down on his shoulders.
My grandmother’s hand as well,
gripping his hand in death in life,
and not surprised by the strength.
Not giving in, not letting go
or crying Uncle as we did
when he squeezed our hands
at age 80. At 90. His strength
mythic but real. His life
a beautiful envy I’ll always have.



Richard Weaver was an Assistant Professor at the 3rd oldest Jesuit College where he taught in the English Department and was the Head of Library Circulation, and acting Archivist. His first published poem appeared in Poetry Magazine in April of 1975. His 600th poem was recently published in Red Eft Review. Other publications and his mugshot as a Rat Poet available upon request. (Mug not available.)