When I was sixteen,
My grandpa lost me.
Normally, people would say that I lost my grandfather
He lost me
The beautiful, articulate child
That questioned everything
Became stone.
And I was scared when I wiped away the fog
To see his lifeless eyes before mine
To see his burnt flesh in a perfectly polished box
And my flesh began to burn
My body began to incinerate
As my limbs were ripped from me
And thrown into the furnace
As the cavity was torn inside my chest
And fear became normal.
Now, I hear the song you used to sing to us during Christmas services
Like broken glass being dragged across my face
Like gunpowder ignited in my eardrums
Like a flood inside my veins
My hands are waterfalls that ebb and flow across your picture
And my tears are the bits of brine that hit the gifts you've given me
Now, I am preparing to face a new storm
When I talk on the phone with my Pop Pop
Who is sicker than my parents will tell me
I hold the floodgates closed with white knuckles
The drugs pumped into his system are a dam for his approaching torrent
Just as the lump in my throat is mine.
This Christmas is no celebration
As my one beloved grandpa is on Heaven's shore
And the other is crashing into the waves
That leave me drowning.
We fight off different floods
But he can only fight for so long.
Either way
Both will prove to be devastating.