Poetry

Out of the Box

He died.
I stare at the urn and
cannot believe he
fits inside.

My grandfather.
I did not get the chance
to say goodbye.

I wonder if
my memories of him will
one day dwindle until they
fit inside a box so small.

I remember sitting on his lap
as he played the organ
begging him to let me play.
The sound of his voice on the phone
when he would call me "Petunia"
the brightness of his eyes
when I made honor roll and
the pepperminty smell of his clothes.

My grandfather.
I did not believe he would die.
Instead I sat at home
watching television
talking on the phone.

There is no way to fill the void
I feel without him here.
I see nothing, care nothing
can do nothing but try and
comfort myself with food.

4/9/03