and flowers and funerals
my head didn’t hurt all the time
there are supposed to be grand kids, and meals
and flowers and funerals
that can’t be more than I’d forget.
My life used to make sense
then I’d see something else.
I wonder how my grandfather was -
I wonder how my grandfather lived.
I can’t imagine his life in the past -
I can’t remember anything but the present -
I know he lived before me,
I know he lived with me,
and he’ll never understand any after me.
I hope one day it all comes together.
I hope one day it all makes sense.
Hope I’ll explain it all to him.
Maybe then he’ll understand.
I wonder what details I lost in my life.
That he lived too.
That he lived too long,
That he cared too little.
Is that accurate?
I wish I knew him.
I wish I hated his face.
I’m sure it will mean something someday.
And now I write, and hope it all gets better.
Maybe that’s when he gives me memories of myself.
With my dreams.
Copyright Janet Kuypers.
All rights reserved. No material
may be reprinted without express permission.
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