I’m looking for your son
You wrote about John 
the suzuki method 
his monthly recital
back in 1991

you advised me
treasure Paris
cuz in the united states
beautiful memories sustain 
bleak midwinter days
and you enlightened me 
about striping wallpaper 
in Macomb, Illinois

Back then I was sleeping
five hours a night 
fleeting visions of 
roommates and odd jobs
an empty refrigerator
a rundown apartment 
2eme arrondissement

Back then
I set your letters aside

I note your son John
wasn’t at his step-mother’s 
online pandemic primetime funeral
a dismal show

Of course 
the Trinity Lutheran Church 
continues to salute the remains 
on Facebook

I’m getting worried
you keep coming to mind
and I’ve already guessed
you’re long gone

Mary Janet 
you told me your birth name
once, like it was meant to be
now I’ve forgotten

But not wishing to offend 
the parents who took you 
into their hearts and home,
you accepted the double name 
as “it will do” so the matter,
you said, was not important

Yet searching ancestry find-a-gravestone 
I read you donated your body
to science in 1994

It occurs to me 
in death you finally managed to 
get away from those two names 
sticking to you any further

and suddenly
I’ve got to find your son
track him down in Brazil
write all his acquaintances
on Insta; it seems clear 
the reason you wrote me 
I’ve got your letters 
to give to John