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Poetry


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Grandpa at the Opera

By Crayfish

24 March 2008

He lies there like he is sleeping,
Grandma sits in the corner like she is dying,
I am sixteen,
But I am a child,
Hand grasped by my father’s,
Unable to grasp anything,
But such a tender pain.

I do not yet understand,
That I will never,
Forever,
See him again.
Hear him again.
Indoor shoes, white cane, tie and hat,
My mother is calm.

I am the only one crying,
Shuddering softly in my stiff, black coat.
Shuddering softly.
My voice comes out shaky,
Like the “wobbly” vibrato
My grandpa objects to.
And when we leave,
I stop outside,
Dark and cold,
And stare at the casement of soft light,
Sharing a second that grabs his hand,
And walks on by.
He lies in a room,
Stacked upon, beside, beneath
So many others.

I know that he is leaving just as I am,
Know he will never be again,
Know I will go on being.
Know he will always be
In the wings of my opera
And every uncertain step my grandmother takes,
Him in the back of my mind,
With his square glasses,
Along with all those other glasses.
Every life says the same thing.

He showed me how make sunshine,
Out of tears,
Like squinting wet lashes in light,
He showed me what I do not yet understand,
What I may not ever understand.

Every life says the same thing,
Yes, he showed me that everything,
Is opera,
And we cannot sing strongly enough.
We cannot sing strongly enough.

Reviews

Written by fellpony (1652 comments posted) 24th March 2008

I liked a lot of the ideas within this. Possibly there's a touch too much packed into the early lines. With the capitalised starts to the lines and some slightly uncertain punctuation I was uncertain who was meant in some places (eg, I will never,
Forever,
See him again.
Hear him again.
Indoor shoes, white cane, tie and hat,
My mother is calm. - you've got three people in this sentence and I'm not sure who's doing what.)
I'm ambivalent about your repeated last line, but that's okay - it is thought provoking nonetheless.

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