it’s not the secrets you tell
but those you keep
tucked inside
that little wooden box hidden under the bed
or behind the books on the shelf in the hallway
what whispers
do you share only with your eyes and hands
not with me
I can hear you thinking
and see that look behind your blue eyes
you have journeyed far away from me
I reach for your hand to draw you back
smell the scent of diesel and blacktop
I hear the distant rumble of thunder
** for Uncle Marty – Martin Kerekes – we will miss you
thecourseofourseasons 
it’s not the secrets you tell
but those you keep
tucked inside…I love this. So sorry about your loss. I just noticed that he was from Romania, my parents were both born there.
I too am sorry for you loss… smell is such a powerful reminder.
…he is in good hands now for sure smiling while reading your poem… smiles… you have a beautiful heart…
Scents…those reminders of loved ones…How well I remember going through my dad’s closet and smelling his suits, his ties, a vest.. and how well you portray that in your poem. . Sorry for your loss, K. x
Grieving is a process…this one is hard for me right now…life reduced to memories and things left behind. I’m so sorry for your loss.
I am sorry for your loss K ~ everyone has secrets, don’t they ~
Kathleen, I am so sorry for your loss. You have captured the spirit of your uncle beautifully here.
Pamela
Thanks you, Pamela. I appreciate your kind words. K
Oh those secrets under the bed…or behind the books. I really can’t blame a person. Everyone needs private places. I too am sorry for your loss.
Thanks, Mary – we all have those secrets tucked away somewhere, don’t we? K
I am so sorry for your loss. There is such tenderness in this write–really lovely
Thank you, I appreciate your kind words.
Everyone has secrets, everyone. Sorry for your loss……
Thank you for your kindness, K
There are some aromas that just trigger memories in us – diesel and blacktop (we call that tar – short for tarmacadam after Scotsman Mr McAdam who invented it … smiles) would certainly bring back vivid memories of a trucker. I guess from the name that your husband’s uncle was ethnic Hungarian from Transylvania.
There are several different spellings of the name – Kerekesch, Kerekesh not sure which was the original. And I have never heard that they might be Hungarian – have heard the story that my husbands grandmother was VERY explicit that they were not gypsies!
And in certain areas of the American South , it is still called macadam – all those Scots with southern accents
Thanks Tony – K
heavy…i am sorry for your loss k….def like the use of smell as that is often evocative of person…the bit on the secrets up front…its what i dont say that scares me more than what i do when my time comes….
Thanks Brian – I know, I just always make sure that the folks I love know it and have no doubt – there is nothing more important to say. K
so sorry for your loss k. – but i do love how smells can bring a person back so close again.. just passed a lorry today and the diesel smell reminded me so of my uncle..
He was my husband’s uncle and the first of the 5 Kerekes uncles I met – all born in Romania – moved to the US during WWII – still with that wonderful accent all these years later. A long distance trucker, he would pop in when he could – I will miss those spontaneous visits and that loud booming voice. Thanks, Claudia – K