Skip to main content

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…

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Inside

"There's a chaos inside that 'll not die down." Unsteady gale wind whips at hair rips souls from their bones leaving corpses of naked bodies curled and crying, wet and muddy Blackness, sound of breathing a scream that wallows, tares from the intestines spewing brown bile, lead heavy words "You'll not drown in a wake of your own making." Shoving gravel through eye sockets, dreading tomorrow caught in a web of mucus, rotting tobacco leaves, dust of glass sprinkled on tongues Empty bottles of fire sing heavy somber tunes, tumbling off the end of the earth, cutting the heads of goddesses bathing in the stars "Turmoil inside suffocates tomorrow and the next." "I know."
Post a Comment
Read more

Voices

The doctor doesn't seem to understand. Says I'm off. Not quite right. Thin sheets are always talking to me. Voices of old French philosophers and Pompous Englishmen discussing some Colorless Male Burden. Killings and Sexings have been whispered Across candle light by thin wild haired Depressed Americans who rock menacingly Staring at the sky. Waiting for black birds Eyeballs and blood Baritone Black men tell me about blues Grassroot hallucinations speaking through Hazy browns and chaotic melodies "Jazz," she says, "Strange Fruit," She Says. Women talk of the domestic This fucking wallpaper That fucking husband Doctor just doesn't seem to understand. I refuse to enter a library until all these Voices wait their turn
Post a Comment
Read more

Rusty Muffler

My roommate was nearly killed by a rusty muffler. My rusty muffler. It tumbled, and ricocheted off wet pavement right at her She laughed. Brought the broken pieces by hand, said I'd fix it someday Radio's never worked, orange lights illuminate buttons that have no use, they're pretty in the night reflections Broken knobs flick them on and off on and off on and off on and off Before my muffler's attempted murder a chorus of tired pistons, rubber belts, fluid cylinders, mechanical leavers and stuttering window wipers occupied the cabin hall Now there's only a rumbling to be heard beneath my feet, loudest in every gear rattling organs under thin layers of fat It chokes the need for talk We are taken by the roar from place to place, I flick the orange button lights on and off on and off on and off there's need to yell at times "stop it..." I follow the white lines with my eyes until home, the howling dies, our voices are left to fill the void We listen to ...
Post a Comment
Read more