Grandpa
often talks about dead peoplewho were out of his childhood
who chose to leave earlier
out of here now
but
whatever they were-
relatives,friends, neighbors ,colleagues,
that they are still. The moments shared
as intimacy, still passes
between them that helps him feel
he still holds them though not
by the hand but by the fingerprints
left by them in firm handshakes
and will end
when he ends.
Whenever he recalls them, he
reaches for an old photo album, jams
the present and jams tomorrow
and lives
yesterday. I often listen
through his mouth
the monologue
he holds with the picture
which without words seem
to be
smiling ,chuckling,nodding
and discover he and I, we
view time
differently
as he resets the norms
of seeing and listening.
How I wish I could see and talk
to the invisible as he does!
Poetry by yoonoos peerbocus
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Editors' choiceWritten on 2026-03-30 at 01:39
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William Hughes |
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Editorial Team |
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Sameen |
