Surprising to hear him –
so tiny and quiet
he seems invisible –
at age four suddenly to laugh
from the corner of a living room
crowded with brothers and sisters,
aunts and in-laws after
the funeral and family brunch,
skinny arms and legs akimbo,
holding his stomach,
chuckling to an unseen friend
at the bickering over who gets what
Now and then he lets go a cackling laugh
that cuts the chatter, turning heads
to see who is laughing and what
is so damn funny
at such a terrible time
And he keeps on laughing
at the rest of what they say
until exiled into the backyard
for knowing phony when he hears it,
and laughs on the swing set
legs in the air, head tossed back,
taking the wind