Inheritance
first published in “Now and Then” by Landing Press (2024)
I drive the same roads Grandad drove for decades
Wake, every morning, in his old house
Stand in the same spot he did and look at the same ocean
Feel the same slow awe, the same swell of gratitude
The thought feels colossal: What am I supposed to do
with all of this remembering? He is everywhere and nowhere
Tawa for Sunday dinner, at the head of the table
easing a cork out of the grape juice
At the beach, on Christmas day during the heatwave
watching us in the water, holding the towels
On the lounge floor
his back slick with sweat, doing sit ups after his run
Hobbling lengths of the balcony
learning how to walk on a new hip
At the table, where I sit writing
the sun hot on his neck, reading the paper
Or watching as we run
barefoot and lanky, down to Aunt Lily’s house
In the food court or at church or somewhere between
Titahi Bay and Tawa with a grandchild, maybe me, in the back seat
Even on the other end of the phone, waiting to hear
And I think, what would Grandad say?
Thank you, thank you, I was so lucky
Look at all of the places I was loved