went to bed with his stockings on
one shoe off and one shoe on
diddle diddle dumpling, my son john
my mother used to say this old nursery rhyme to him
morning bells are ringing, morning bells are ringing
ding ding dong
I myself used to sing this to him, in both english and french, when he was a child.
john died in his bed in a house he was sharing with other people, yet his body lay dead in that bed for as many as six days before anyone knocked on his bedroom door. he was nearly five years younger than I am. I am the oldest child, I was supposed to die first.
before he died, he lost our family house in foreclosure to swindling mortgage companies. he took our family possessions out of storage and sold them. he worked us over, all of us, before he died in his bed.
let me say that I feel rage. and bafflement. and grief… for the house more than for him, although there is indeed some grief for him, this liar, cheat, con man, thief, little brother who for certain years came to me with his problems. yet another sordid, agonizing story that I have to tell. it just never stops.
all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2013 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.