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Grandma's Puzzles

White boxes, three of them
Now four. Back to three. Up to five and
Down again. Frustration sets in. Face gets hot

“Damn Rubik’s cube,” I say.

The living room is full of family
Full of death

My uncle sits across from grandpa, their both
Stout and have big lips just like mine
Uncle Stan’s eyebrows are ruffled, muttering
Humorously. Wooden puzzle pieces won’t fit
Together for him.

“Where’s my saw at there carpenter?”
He says towards his cowboy boot, feather
Earring wearing, dark skinned, thirty year old
Indian looking son.

We laugh, puzzles unsolved, pieces
Jumbled on top of each other – Pushed aside.

Cowboy Indian, shooting to be a genius plays
Pegs, trying to jump down to one.

“Got down to three – It says that's average.” He reads
Indian lips trying to kiss the ceiling.

We laugh, puzzles unsolved, pieces
Jumbled on top of each other – Pushed aside.

Grandpa’s puzzles not in his hands
Stares off somewhere, wheezes through
The cancer hole in his neck. His face wrinkled
Looks hot, eyes, glossy and old.

He doesn’t speak. He cannot speak and
Wouldn’t speak if he could.
Grandma’s heart stopped last Wednesday.
Grandpa’s heart broke last Wednesday.
We stop.

Rubik’s cube sporadic, wooden puzzle pieces scattered,
And three pegs left on the board

No more laughter, just this blood
Pulsing silence in our ears and Grandpas
Silent weeping fill the living room

Grandmas living room full of death
Unfinished stacks of cross word puzzles
Sit along side Grandmas recliner veiled
With an unfinished quilt for a family member

Nobody knows who.

Grandma left puzzles for us all…

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