When Grandfather Died
Poem by Liam Siemens
Art by Enid Au
At the dinner table, I watch my sister’s hair
shrink back into her head until she’s my age.
Before I’ve had time to move, she’s wrapped
herself in tablecloths, hidden under pillowcases,
smiling,
who’s got the time?
Under a chair,
my brother’s shoes grow
clownish on his feet, his
words catching on a
stutter. In a second, he’s
zooming atop kitchen
counters, carpets, tables,
picking his nose like it’s a
threat, ripping pages
from Calvin & Hobbes,
eating syrup on pancakes
on the floor. I look away.
When I look back, his
forehead is lined. He’s
shrunken in on himself.
Not unhappy. Trying to
explain Deleuzian
rhizomes in a manner
he thinks casual,
could you pass the time?
Above the crumpled cinnamon buns,
Mom wizens, smartens,
she’s slinging grandchildren
atop each shoulder, her
spoon-silver hair catching
in the light. Then she catches
her reflection, pinches her
neck, this — where did this
come from? and her spine
starts to curl like a Theracane.
I try to stop her, but by the time
I hold her hands, she’s smiling sadly.
Remember when I called you
the Goddess of compassion, I
say while her fingers tighten.
Remember you’d let me squish
the plush veins on your hand,
ask you for a scoop of peanut butter
by the fire? I look down at myself
to see boxing-glove baby hands,
bubble-gum wallpaper around a hand-made crib,
where’s the time gone?
My father’s face de-wrinkles above
Mennonite meat & potatoes.
I show him communist
rock and we throw
the ball around.
What will I be like in the future, he asks.
I add a Harrison Ford fedora and inflate his
stomach to 60 psi. Like this, I say, only greyer.
Do we talk? Yes, we clock 5km together and
pretend we aren’t racing.
But what will you play at my funeral?
He slows down and dives into a pool of water,
a streak of youth,
and while I wait for him on the other side,
I scratch a spot behind my ears.
I say, I’m not there yet.