An Open Letter to the Man Who Killed Himself on Our Property

We never know when we create something, who it will benefit. Rest in Peace, dear Claus! 

An Open Letter to the Man Who Killed Himself on Our Property

Claus, builder of our tudor home
who toiled with your own hands
and pulled from Germanic roots,
thank you for the two by sixes you used
for framing, we feel most solid amidst these walls.

Neighbor, who rode your bicycle to visit next of doors
in the golden light of July evenings,
we learned you were beloved and friend to all,
we wave hello to others in your honor.

Father, who despaired when your daughter
dyed her hair black and seemed morose,
so far four teenagers have lived here
and three are up and coming,
they all suffer hard moments.

Hero, who installed for his heroine, a red telephone booth
and a Chronicles of Narnia lamp post,
even though we have removed those reminders,
we look through your paned glass windows,
we hear your Arthurian call among the cedars.
Infidelity and divorce were our cross to bear as well,
but we did what you weren’t able, healed and hoped again.

Builder of the barn outback for the equine Dolly,
we too tried horses and also gave them up,
yet we want you to know chickens range freely,
pecking with purpose at the green grass,
house cats bask in the sun on the walkways.
We too hear the frogs, a dove and owl.

Puller of the trigger,
the concrete of the gazebo you built and then died upon
was broken by the interim owner and piled in the woods,
we ride around these moss covered altars on our four wheeler.

Old world dreamer, your plans for happy children
running through fern and bracken happened,
we cross the threshold on the brick entrance you mortared.
Your crafting for a family’s comfort has outlived you.

Spirit of purpose and project,
like the architects still blessing the pyramids
the masons who float among the cathedrals,
with gratitude, we live your legacy.
Please stay and tell us,
what did you do about the blackberries?