1959
by
Robbi Nester
One
hand on the bannister,
at
six, I didn’t know
my
grandfather,
in
faraway South Africa,
would
never visit again.
my
mother held an open
aerogram,
cried out,
“He’s
gone!”
She
wept, and I couldn’t
understand
why.
He
had arrived
two
years ago
with
his bags full of gifts—
a
short, round man
clutching
a giant doll,
with
China-blue eyes—
for
me!
In
his pockets, he carried
two
unset diamonds
for
my mother.
He
said the doll distracted
the
customs people,
kept
them from asking
what
he had in his pockets.
My
mother asked,
“Why
aren’t you crying?”
“He
was your grandfather!”
her
white face hurt and angry.
I
tried to squeeze a few
hot
tears out of the corners
of
my eyes, imagining
the
saddest things I could,
but
no tears came.
For
me, he was already gone.
I
couldn’t fathom
words
like “never”
or
“forever.” So I didn’t cry,
though
my mother’s tears
scared
me, and her red
mouth,
open as a wound.
* * * * *
"1959" is part of Robbi Nesters new collection Narrow
Bridge (Main Street Rag, 2019).
Robbi Nester is the
author of four books of poetry: a chapbook, Balance (White
Violet, 2012), and three collections, including A Likely Story (Moon
Tide, 2014); Other-Wise (Kelsay, 2017); and Narrow
Bridge (Main Street Rag, 2019). She has also edited two anthologies—The
Liberal Media Made Me Do It! (Nine Toes, 2014) and an Ekphrastic
e-book, Over the Moon: Birds, Beasts, and Trees--celebrating the
photography of Beth Moon (published as an issue of Poemeleon Poetry Journal).
The memories through a child's eyes, still struggling for comprehension, come together abruptly in this one encompassing flash: "her red mouth, open as a wound."
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