Death of a Distant In-law

We watched the deaf-mute buried
in his largest silence. Earlier
in the relatives' chapel his family,
brought together there, nodded, smiled,
and whispered about jobs and kids and cars,
catching up, while through the curtain drawn
to hide our tears, the preacher celebrated
This Man's Simplicity. This man. I thought of
family gatherings through the years, this distant
in-law in a corner chair somewhere, watching
the silent movie of our stir. Sometimes
he moved his lips, touched his useless ears,
cajoling; large eyes looming like dark
closets not sorted through in years.
Now he lay like marble, big hands clasped
across his heart, and finally his eyes were closed,
beneath the lids that unnamed knowledge
stored and locked away.