The eulogy I didn’t give (XIII)

“Good parents make dinner.”

^{Pablo Picasso, Maternity (1930)}

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Dear friends,

Bob lost his father a few months ago and has since written a series of eulogies he didn’t give at the funeral. I have a hundred pages of these heartfelt, heartbreaking eulogies that will one day be a book that I’m certain would become such an essential part of many lives. You’ve probably read or will read some of his eulogies in the New Yorker and/or elsewhere. Here’s one of the few we’ve published at ONLY POEMS. More to come soon.

May death spare our loved ones until it can,

Karan

The eulogy I didn’t give (XIII)

by Bob Hicok

Good parents make dinner. 

Provide the food, the table,
the spoon, the fork, the home.

Teach you to shovel snow, 
catch fireflies, shave, 
use a tampon. Explain 

light bulbs, stars, 
the dark. Remove thorns 

of trees and attempt 
to extract larger thorns, 
like heroin if it stabs you. 

Drink little, or none, 
or a lot. Try to lift you 

higher in the sky 
than they ever got. 

And stand next in line 
for death, between you
and your last breath. 

When your parents are gone, 
the final bit 
of your childhood
runs away from home. 

You're an adult now
and on your way, alone.