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Grandad.

I read Zeno's Paradoxes

(unrelated)

And now I see your history as

the fragmented flight of an arrow

suspended again and again

on a semi epic curve of fiction


You were Pavarotti

You were the El Paso mafia

silk shirts, gold chains, and 70's swagger


Smallness didn't suit your frame

yet small you became

until your carpenter's fingers dwindled

into withered twigs

and a cigarette marked the passage of an

hour or a minute


You looked at me and saw my mother

I looked at you and saw my father

same eyes, nose, and calm


What a shame this is for him

And shame on all of us for only looking

at ourselves


Blood goes bad for as many reasons as

there are excuses


I saw the missed call and assumed your freedom


Mom said the moment you left, Granny

crawled into bed beside you and went to

sleep without a word or a call to anyone,

even her daughter


The image is painful and beautiful and

haunting and cinematic


I feel like an old man

Today I am a tree's trunk


You died with regrets

I live with them

I hope we can both start over

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