You are not here.
I can not touch you.
I can no longer walk between
the two peonies on my way to
your porch.
The peonies are there, but it is no longer
your house.
How many times did I mow that lawn?
Keep it tight to the tree,
round and round the peonies.
Good boy J.J.
God how I hated that nickname.
I see you now,
at your desk in the corner,
pall mall burning
in your shoe shaped ashtray,
crossword puzzle folded neatly
and your glasses half on your nose.
You were the toughest woman I know.
" Was ist los, Wer ist da?"
"It's me Gram"
I'd come around the corner and you would look at me over your glasses.
I could always tell what I was gonna get from you by the looks on your face.
None of us have poker faces.
Even if I got the head shake of disapproval, there was always a hint of a smile, a smirk.
I know I was your favorite.
I got away with ******.
In your grey stuccoed rooms
I found my sexuality,
I tried to end my life,
I cried,
I ******,
I watched others battle until bloodied
and
I fought many
of my own battles
in front of your fireplace.
I saw a family blossom,
unfolding layer after layer
of beauty,
death,
secrets
and joy.
I saw strong men crumble in your dining room.
Countless were the times I would hang around on the fringes of conversations,
unobtrusive, but ever observant I was.
I learned so much from your phone calls, your conversations.
I think of when I have been the happiest
and it was when I was being tucked in by you
up in the king room.
My belly full,
freshly bathed,
the smell of avon's skin-so-soft,
clean sheets
and the softest pillows
in the world.
I was safe.
I was loved.
Waking up to
bacon and
french toast and
apple butter and
captain kangaroo and
your creaky stairs,
I have never had it as good as that.
You made the best french toast ever.
And then I got older and taller.
My marks on the measuring wall kept creeping up and up.
I got closer to
uncle mikes and
butch and...
was big jim on there?
I grew into a ****** little teenager,
I went from asking you for candy money,
to concert tshirt money
to bail money.
Through it all, you were there for me.
I would show up,
head down and repentant,
ready for my berating.
I wonder how different my life would have been had you not been around
as long as you were?
That day when my dad
came and took me
when I didn't want to go,
I kept looking back
and crying for you,
You said it always broke your heart, that look.
That was my introduction to manipulation.
It was in your basement
I found the steaming remains of debauchery.
I met most of my demons
for the first time
in the shadows
of the mighty sycamores
on Lincoln Boulevard.
You are not here.
I can not touch you.
You died and we fell apart, all of us.
We barely hang on,
it seems.
Your children squabble and flounder still.
Alliances formed
and broken
and rediscovered again.
Silly, this constant ebb and flow of intimacy.
Blood is thick, right?
We are doing ok though, I promise.
You would be so proud of us, I swear.
Our kids are happy
and we teach them words
like deetdeedles and shoisel.
I still make french toast your way
and Anne's house has the measuring wall.
I still do crosswords,
I love words, because of you.
I write, I live, thanks to you.
The willow tree is gone
but the peonies are still there.
Ich leibe dich, Gramma.
