Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Bailey B Aug 2010
My grandfather's not dead
but you act like he is

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?

we're only pretending, anyway.
Moushumi Sinha Sep 2018
Raindrops on the garden chair
Water dripping from my hair
Horses stood quietly in the rain
As they watched me dance again...

For months together I was alone
Sitting and sleeping like a stone
No friends came to wish me well
As I eagerly looked at the doorbell..

Maa dreaded the ill famed disease
As Paa took me to chemotherapies
I looked ghostly, bald and ugly
Sunken eyes stared back deadly....

I shunned all that was outside
The world was just my bedside
The books kept on the shelf,
Soft music to soothe myself..

But for sometime now
Feeling better somehow
Could walk to the window
And lo!! A beautiful rainbow...

My spirits soared high above
Is this really Heavenly love?
Giving me a ray of hope
Offering me a colourful rope??

Paa came home humming a tune
Said my ordeal would end soon
The doctor said I was cancer free
Maa came running to hug me...

I walked out as it started to rain
Found my strength all over again
As the horses watched me dance
I knew I had a second chance..

— The End —