Friday, November 20, 2009

The mayor of Cabbagetown has died

The mayor of Cabbagetown has died
and the city grows quiet, ears pressed
to flesh and memory, listening for
the stories
                he no longer tells
are painted into the gingerbread trim
of Carlton Street storefronts and
the faces
              of costumed children
pang at future Halloweens before a house
drab with the cavity of true death, so unlike
the jolly spectacle
                           of years past
continues on the Parliament parade route,
hesitantly creeping, unguided by its Marshal:
the mayor of Cabbagetown has died.

I wish I had less trivial words and memories by which to honour the death of a man who did so much for my city. Goodbye, Mr. Orbach.

        When you die, what do you want people to remember and say about you?


Joanne Cucinello said...

When I die, I want people to say that I loved them as best I could, that I cared enough to listen to their hearts, that I inspired and helped them believe in life and themselves.

I want them to say that I made them laugh their asses off too and sometimes made them cry. I want them to say that my life made a difference.
And as my favorite poet, Mary Oliver, once wrote in her poem "When Death Comes" . . . " I don't want to end up simply having visited this world."

Thanks for the great question Adelaide!

Dorkmaster Flek said...

I'm sad I didn't get to see his crazy Halloween setup before he died. :(

Claudia said...

We've already talked about this numerous times.

I'm not sure I want them to say anything in particular, but I'd be touched if I was remembered at all.