Grandpa

 

He addresses his shirts

like boxing champions

midweight, heavyweight, light as a feather

but he is not as nimble as a butterfly

 

He is old.

He is old enough that he pauses   between hi s l e t t e r s

That Wednesday and Thursday mean the same thing to him

As do meatloaf and roast beef, smile and frown,

and this is the last stage of his winter.

 

He is not a patriarch.

No eternal gazing presence,

with massive hands and bolderlike roots

he is feeble, and his story is the same

as everyone’s

who has lived a very long time

and has resigned himself to the inevitable indignities

 

Words repeated

Messes cleaned

It is better not to disturb

 

broken ears.

 

He is not sick, despite his windchime bones

He will live, for as long as it is convenient

Metal apparatuses will support his frame

and his children will bite each other over his money

He has lived a very long time.

 

He is a shy man

No girlfriends till college

A grey cloth man finds a grey cloth wife

But she died first

To make the necessary tragedy

The mild idiosyncrasy

Dying with the terror of a whorlpool mind

words slipping from her memory like

plastic glasses slip from his hands

 

Sometimes he looks to the window,

wondering why the past lies invisible

beyond a damned and deaf horizon

But of course, such things can’t be helped.

Reviews

[Ms. Ella M]

a beautiful and very poignant description, I never knew my Granpa but this poem makes me feel the feeling
of what it would've been like...
nice job, it rouses the senses.

[Silent Kim aka mizmetap..]

Nicely written, colorful words that flow smoothly, you made me feel the pains and suffering of watching some one age. I could feel the love and the helplessness one feels when watching one we love grow old and face death any day. You're helpless, yet death would be a welcome relief from the suffering of living. You expressed this so well in your writing. Good write.

[Samuel Dickens]

This poem is a cut above the norm--perhaps two cuts. The wording is inspired. "windchime bones, bolderlike roots." Alice, you're a very fine poet.

[Anarda Nashai]

This poem is AWESOME!!! You know, just when I thought it might be a simple dedication...it turns out to be a solid commentary (at least to me it was). You have a wonderful style of writing: relative and alive with description. Excellent work, my dear!!! I'm looking forward to reading more from you.

-Anarda Nashai
author of Despondent
Check out my website at:
www.anardanashai.webs.com