I have
a second-cousin-once-removed.
We share
splotches of DNA.
I know
a few dots of his life:
He’s Navy-retired, father-of-three.
His Father was my Mothers cousin
who I called my “Uncle Mickey”.
When I was ten, in ’58,
my family was
going to hell in a hand-basket,
so I phoned Uncle Mickey
and he offered to take me
in…
etc.

Then, about a year ago,
my Uncle Mickey died.
I talked to James,
my second-cousin-once-removed
for just the forth time in our lives…
Yeah,
I know it was only on Face-Book Messenger!
So-what?
I told him what his Father
did for me
and meant to me…

Well, James and I
are not on the same page
or even in the same book…
Hell!!
We’re not even in the same library,
about many things!
(Face-Book posts tell a lot…)

But, now,
looking back during this
dark-pandemic-moment
at that
one-brief-shinning-conversation
it feels
like I was talking to my
once-was-lost
but now
is-found-again
younger-brother
and, well,
what the hell?
We live
in neighboring states:
The eastern-sea-coast of Virginia,
the south-east-sea-coast of North Carolina…
(And neither of us is getting
any younger…)

So, maybe,
after this Carona-plague-lock-down
opens up,
we’ll try to get together
for a beer and Calabash shrimp!

Yeah.
Why not?
Plagues do unexpected things to semi-strangers
living out here
on the tips of the wind-blown branches of a family tree….