My Grandfather and I

(http://bobotaro.wordpress.com/2007/12/13/)

 

my grandfather runs Mayfair

he drag races his Lincoln

with the light-up interior

like a faded disco ball

 

when I was eight

we’d live on weekends

in the same diner

with the same wrinkled waitress

in a matching apron

straw soldiers in a deep pocket

brushed our table as she

poured more coffee

 

the smell always

wrapped me like home

in home fries and

Church incense

 

I’d beg for the same

silver dollar hot cakes

small stack

too much for a tiny girl

 

I was still tiny then

 

whole milk with chocolate syrup

plastered to the sides

my stomach ached with

the most glorious clockwork

 

my grandfather tucked

twenty dollar bills

into my small hands

he took his teeth out

held them like pearls

I screamed and turned away

I laughed and threw my arms

around his neck

 

his house is a museum of

taxidermy things

I ran my fingers through

the dust of a bear’s tongue

 

kiwis grew in the garden out back

he handed me one

I rolled it in my hands

tried to see the future

 

I cook for him sometimes

he reminds me how

I never stopped

dreaming out loud

 

we sit under stars

my grandfather and I

we drink chianti

and talk about the past