C.M

When I Visit My Grandmother (A Poem)


i don’t know what time it is
because my grandmother has built a library

the library covers the counters, 
the tables,
the sofa, 
the chairs

stacks of her past,
stacks of another time,
rise upon each surface

 i ask her often– 
‘grandmother, what is this?’ 
‘grandmother, why hold onto this?’
‘grandmother, why keep this?’

and she hums within her labyrinth of leather-bound books 
and encyclopedias 
and dusty trunks
and old stage memorabilia 

her eyes, 
rich in images only she can see 

her eyes, 
baby blue, carrying spring

her eyes, 
hushed,
as she converts ghosts into words 

to help me understand

the stacks 
of 
another 
time 


— — — 


puttering in her gentle way
she explains how 
she traveled the world
expelling a fur coat in my arms,
“it will fit you,” she says

she weaves her hands in 
and out of cabinets
propagating silverware, dishes, 
cookware of various sizes
“I always liked to bake with this one,” 
she laughs, holding a giant spoon
wooden &
scarred,
i imagine it flour-dusted,
faithful to her,
in her generations of bread

when i first learned about God,
i pictured my grandmother;

her hands outstretched 
to pour sweet syrup 
over pancakes 
or easiness upon 
dim shoulders

i imagine it again as she settles 
her collections into a box.

into a box for me.

— — — 

next,
a yearbook from 1942
cover-to-cover of pin curls 
and tailored suits,
gentlemen and ladies 
in wartime glamour

‘and there he is’, she says pointing

black-hair slicked back.
it’s her father,
shining like a star.

with her finger against the photograph
her face opens, unjaded
and juvenile,
beneath
her wiser
skin

— — — 

quiet walkways unearth organically
amid her archives, rising
on either side of us.
i walk carefully,
step-by-step along 
the frayed edges 
of her befores

hazy light seeps 
where it can, 
contouring us 
like specters guided by 
a gibbous moon

and within this library, 
nestled beneath the 
aroma of old books, 
confined
to crooked shadows &
billowing dust,
hides a mantle clock

both hands– 
lifeless.
silent.
succumbed.

i don’t know what time it is.

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