the way you tiptoe around the closed oak door way you whisper in a scratchy voice when you talk about the future
way you pop in your set of pearly whites and bare your teeth too easily when he asks you for a glass of water and your brassy trumpet tells him
of course, dear, are you feeling okay?
You think that I've caught on and know better than to trade him secrets beneath the cracked door to your bedroom like copper pennies for freedom
and that I don't remember him throwing diving sticks at the bottom of the pool then snatching them up and waving them above his head far from my six-year-old reach
or when sitting upon his knee as a child I would pick at the edges of the sepia photos as he traced the veins of our family back to seventy-second great-aunts and royalty
I help you count the red pills as I recall my favorite hiding place (your fireplace) and you shake your head and scold me
that was an awful place to hide what if there had been cinders?
I tell you
we live in Texas
and tuck my wishes back into my pocket and mention that Granddad thought it was a fantastic place to visit and that I would sit there for hours and pretend I was a phoenix from the old mythology books in the musty back of your closet
You laugh as you slip him his pills
you can't possibly remember that
But I remember and I insist on discussing college while he's in the room his wrinkly eyes smile when I plot out my dreams and he knows that I know but I keep our secret anyway
you simper at my mother
oh, isn't she precious hopeful and hoping a cure will be found
but you don't realize I've already discovered it:
Pretend like nothing has happened Don't let them see the ticking hours on the mantelpiece As long as we know that we're not older beneath these transcripts and chemotherapies the real world doesn't matter not really, not at all
My grandfather's alive even if you think he isn't but he is and he's sitting in your drawing room so why don't you pop by for a visit?