Blood in all the right places.

Your square ******* head
looks just the same,
a little older maybe,
some new lines around the edges.

Still the same crazy shine in your eyes.

Years later the same traces,
barely discernible
to the unknowing,
of earlier
disgusting
scenarios
being played out
in your living room.

I  smell the rancid
sweat of old men.

I  taste the curdled,
sour milk
of your breath,
recently begging for
alms.
I hear your hands
pleading whisper,
palms
being offered up
as your eyes
lower.

He owns you.

You are not here.
I can not touch you.
I can no longer walk between
the two peonies on my way to
your porch.
The peonies are there, but it is no longer
your house.
How many times did I mow that lawn?  
Keep it tight to the tree,
round and round the peonies.
Good boy J.J.
God how I hated that nickname.

I see you now,
at your desk in the corner,
pall mall burning
in your shoe shaped ashtray,
crossword puzzle folded neatly
and your glasses half on your nose.

You were the toughest woman I know.

" Was ist los, Wer ist da?"

"It's me Gram"

I'd come around the corner and you would look at me over your glasses.
I could always tell what I was gonna get from you by the looks on your face.  
None of us have poker faces.

Even if I got the head shake of disapproval, there was always a hint of a smile, a smirk.
I know I was your favorite.
I got away with ******.
  
In your grey stuccoed rooms
I found my sexuality,
I tried to end my life,
I cried,
I ******,
I watched others battle until bloodied
and
I fought many
of my own battles
in front of your fireplace.
I saw a family blossom,
unfolding layer after layer
of beauty,
death,
secrets
and joy.

I saw strong men crumble in your dining room.

Countless were the times I would hang around on the fringes of conversations,
unobtrusive, but ever observant I was.
I learned so much from your phone calls, your conversations.

I think of when I have been the happiest
and it was when I was being tucked in by you
up in the king room.

My belly full,
freshly bathed,
the smell of avon's skin-so-soft,
clean sheets
and the softest pillows
in the world.
I was safe.
I was loved.

Waking up to
bacon and
french toast and
apple butter and
captain kangaroo and
your creaky stairs,
I have never had it as good as that.
You made the best french toast ever.

And then I got older and taller.
My marks on the measuring wall kept creeping up and up.
I got closer to
uncle mikes and
butch and...
was big jim on there?

I grew into a ****** little teenager,
I went from asking you for candy money,
to concert tshirt money
to bail money.
Through it all, you were there for me.
I would show up,
head down and repentant,
ready for my berating.
I wonder how different my life would have been had you not been around
as long as you were?

That day when my dad
came and took me
when I didn't want to go,
I kept looking back
and crying for you,
You said it always broke your heart, that look.

That was my introduction to manipulation.

It was in your basement
I found the steaming remains of debauchery.
I met most of my demons
for the first time
in the shadows
of the mighty sycamores
on Lincoln Boulevard.

You are not here.
I can not touch you.
You died and we fell apart, all of us.
We barely hang on,
it seems.
Your children squabble and flounder still.
Alliances formed
and broken
and rediscovered again.
Silly, this constant ebb and flow of intimacy.
Blood is thick, right?

We are doing ok though, I promise.
You would be so proud of us, I swear.

Our kids are happy
and we teach them words
like deetdeedles and shoisel.
I still make french toast your way
and Anne's house has the measuring wall.

I still do crosswords,
I love words, because of you.
I write, I  live, thanks to you.

The willow tree is gone
but the peonies are still there.

Ich leibe dich, Gramma.

Life is an impartial balance
From its beginning to its end
It weighs you not as a foe
Nor does it weigh you as a friend

It comes to you uninvited
In the dark within the womb
Then leaves without consent
And you are laid within the tomb

Life cares not if you be rich or poor
Life cares not if you be strong or lame
Life comes to each just as they are
To life, we are all the same

Life does not possess us
Rather, we are possessors of life
Possessors of its many joys
Possessors of its many strifes

Pursue life to its utmost meaning
Do ! That ,within your heart you know
For life is not your friend
Nor is life your foe

This is a pocket watch,
But not just any old pocket watch,
This pocket watch is detrimental,
A ticking time bomb,
When is it time to stop?

It was my great-grandfathers when he was young,
Ticking for 60 years,
Tick, tock, tick,
When is it going to stop?

The guilt of my past echo's into my system.

It lay there,
Looking into my room,
Staring straight through the window and into the world,
Staring straight into heaven,
Doing nothing but gathering dust...

Or so it seems,

Back then, to realise I was too low,
Now it came back to hurt me just to show, 

This was a looking glass into our world's...
His great-grandchildren's world's...

So, this pocket watch was like a camera,
A spy?
It was a pocket watch in disguise of my great-grandfathers eye?

I always knew he was a man of great mystery,
A man of great pride,
A man with a pocket watch,
This pocket was was surely my grandfather's old man's guide.

It wasn't used only for time,
And not only to make him look wise,
But because it helped him to see into my future,
With his grey and clear, open eyes.

He's witnessed my life now, 
He's seen my past,
So how long is this all going to last?
Now that you've seen me,
Now that you know my life is only full on fun,
I think it's time for you to rest now,
Your work here is done.

*I love you my great-grandad,
Forever and always.