Grandpa
often talks about dead peoplewho were out of his childhood
who chose to leave out of here now
but their non-carnal parts
turn his head into a journal
of their lives and his body
into a memorial.
Whatever they were-
relatives,friends, neighbors ,colleagues,
that they are still. The moments shared
build
a special bridge, to help him feel
he is still with them , preserving
the intimacy and ties that bind
and will end
when he ends.
Whenever he recalls them, he jams
the present and tomorrow and lives
yesterday. I often listen
to their conversation
through his mouth and gestures
and discover we view time
differently
as he resets the terms
of seeing and listening.
How I wish I could see and talk
to the dead as he does!
Poetry by yoonoos peerbocus
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Written on 2026-03-30 at 01:39
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