Heirlooms
After my grandfather died,
my grandmother,
aching with her loneliness,
gave me some of his personal effects;
a yellow flannel shirt that had dried
deer blood on the pocket,
always too small for me,
a dangerously sharp straight razor
complete with strop,
a pair of his brown zyl glasses
with flecks of oil paint
still on both lenses,
and a bone hair brush,
laden with some of his hair.
Today is Friday, his death day,
so once more I open the White Owl
cigar box to visit with those
precious heirlooms. Once again
I will notice some
of his long grey hairs
loose in the bottom. One more time
I will pick up a single hair
between my thumb and index finger
holding it up to the light,
anxiously awaiting
the wonderful weeping
which always commences as
I touch
a flake of his skin.
Glenn Buttkus
Revisited from March 2010
Listed as #24 over on Magpie Tales 64
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12 comments:
this is so touching-
"wonderful weeping" — heartbreaking, yet hopeful.
— K
Kay, Alberta, Canada
An Unfittie's Guide to Adventurous Travel
Glenn,
Not a sentimentalist myself, but I did like your "Heirlooms" memorial poem to your Grandfather,
the artist.
This is gorgeous and nostalgic. I love that you acknowledge "his death day." I try not to open a drawer in a certain bureau, for fear the smell of my grandmother's house will waft out for the last time. Thank you for Heirlooms.
~Brenda
Very tender. Thanks for sharing
This is really beautiful, Glenn. I love the way you examine and cherish the remaining external bits of his DNA. You're a hopeless romantic, just like me.
beautifully captured memories and honourings (if that is a word?)
O God, this is achingly beautiful, Glenn. What imagery. And, "wonderful weeping" I can relate to.
For the fist time I listened to you read Glenn - and in doing so, felt deeply touched by your words.
Thank you.
Anna :o]
Heart reaching!
passionate tale.
bless you,
peace and love for your grand parents.
Relatable, warm work.
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