east again so soon

I wrote this en route to my grandfather's funeral

Sun slipping sly through
morning’s moist curtain,
1-80 cornfields yawn the youngest
shade of yellow.
Just beyond my heavy
head the mile markers tick
by, towns with exotic names like
Axina and Oskaloosa belie their true
two gas station nature.
Each minute brings me closer
to choking back the
black flowers, tears
mixed with laughter.
I remember riding in the back
of your Olds, hot cause you didn’t believe in a/c,
muffled big band crooning from the am radio,
and how well you whistled along.
You’d go 60 miles to save 10 cents
on gas.  No man loved a bargain like you, but
your generosity knew no limits.
You bought me my first car.
I remember how you ate raw
onions like apples, claiming they were
good for the blood.  You took food seriously.  Always the
first one at the table, last to leave.
You read us all the same book, the
pages growing more worn and thin, as you did,
with each new grandchild.
When nobody else could soothe my
night terrors, you’d lean over my bed and
tickle my back with fingers calloused from years
of hard work until sleep finally took me.
I blink, black.  When I open them, I
see black. We stand in the kitchen,
eating mystery casserole and orange
jello from paper plates.  All my food seems too
salty from my crying.
A cacophony of sobs and muted laughter is
punctuated by the doorbell: neighbors, friends
bringing more food.  Apparently nothing says “I send
my condolences” like jello salad.
Grandma’s holding up better than the
rest of us, but I heard her crying in the
shower this morning.  She’s already thrown
herself into thank-you notes.
I can hear your feet shuffling through
the halls of hospice, where we donated
your flowers; see you hugging anyone who looks
a little down.  Out of the corner of my eye,
I see the grandfather clock watching over
us.
​

Reviews

[Impulse]

Sounds just like my grandfather who died a couple months ago. My grandma was moving the stuff out of his room as soon as they removed his body. She didn't take time to grieve, which is dangerous in my opinion. I love that last line; fantastic way to end things. This is one of my favorites.