Looking East, for the Last Time

For Poppy, Who I Liked A Lot

I liked his lack of pretension

The way he didn’t distinguish between Minsk and Pinsk

And didn’t remember where he picked up all his carved wood

Statues and masks and buddhas –

Only that he liked them.

I liked that he’d traveled the world with Frieda,

Whom he called “Mi Senora”

Even though he didn’t speak Spanish.

I liked that he spoke Yiddish, but called it Portuguese

Because he thought it was funny.

I liked his stories about growing up in the city,

Working the Polo Grounds,

Cleaning up after the horses,

Buying his first car,

Driving a girlfriend to the country.

I liked how he talked to his plants when he watered them.

I liked his dedication to the Navy,

The Pacific Fleet that shaped him, wounded him,

And caused him to change his name from Rabinowitz,

Because Robbins was less Jewish.

I liked that he changed his family name, too, so they would all be safer

And all belong.

I liked that he said he had a battleship tattoo,

And when I asked to see it,

He bared his naked chest and said it had sunk.

And when I was in college, he gave me his Navy blazer

And said I wore it well, even though it was too big.

I liked that he loved the ocean,

On which he skippered many boats, including Reflections and Pelilu,

On which I fell asleep causing him to believe I had fallen overboard.

And every time he told me that story, he still worried about my safety.

And when he grew old,

I liked sitting with him on a bench by the sea,

Where he watched the seals,

And called it his office,

Because he worked there every day

To remember his stories.

I liked that he cried easily

Because he lost so much,

Because he laughed so hard,

Felt so deeply

For so long.

I liked that he was always a gentleman,

Who opened doors,

And watched his language,

And picked up the check,

Unless I beat him to it.

I liked that he never stopped loving women,

And big breasts,

And his brother, Norman.

I liked that, in his words, life was pretty good until he turned 90,

When he started to slow down,

And we took away his car.

And for four more years, he walked,

Slowly giving up speed,

Then distance,

Then stairs.

I liked that as he neared the end,

He finally let me do things for him,

Like help him stand up,

Put on his hat,

Open his mail,

Pay his bills,

Feed him peanut brittle,

rub lotion on his parched skin.