I. br My uncle talked to wood with his bare hands. br br His rough and calloused fingertips br coaxed the grain to say its name: br bird's eye maple, southern yellow pine. br He savored the purchase of fine woods br the way a richer man buys a piece of art: br for his collection. To have. To touch. br br I don't think they'd like br this wood they've got him in now. br The grain isn't matched quite properly br there, on the end. br br II. br Pinned by the undertaker's eager smile br and brilliant chatter, I touch the box. br br 'It was hard to get his coloring right. br He was so fair. You look like him. br Are you his daughter? ' br br No. He never married. br But you did a good job. br br 'And he was such a large man, br although I understand br he's been sick recently? br It was hard to find something br of the right size for him.' br br Yes, he was a big man. br br III. br When his father died, I helped my uncle br lay out the clothes. We smoothed wrinkles br from a worn black suit, a white shirt. br He was stumped on which tie to take br and finally held up something grey, knitted. br br 'It's funny how small this looks now. br I used to borrow it to wear to school.' br br Then it's the right one. br br IV. br I want to touch my uncle's hands. br I'm afraid of how cold he is. br So I touch instead, black suit, white shirt, br another knitted tie. br Good bye.