Years later, my grandfather
reached into his pocket for a handkerchief
and extracted my grandmother like a molar from the grave
There’s no exception to the strangeness
in some families, mine no exception
Now my grandfather’s bed is a barge
that floats from dream to dream
He’s unlikely to rise for prayers
His oldest daughter continues to carry him a milk jar
filled with sipping cream
and the crow that was a harbinger
lies buried in a shoe grandfather
will never again wear