I remember my mother’s papery skin,
her slender thighs dangling from above.
The tightness of my chest because I
I cannot reach to touch his cheek.
I want him to know that I am here,
“here I am Grandad, you’re not forgotten.”
The strength of my mother’s ‘hush, now
let your Grandad be”
my arms outstretched and then tugging at her skirt.
I keep asking “where is he?”
“When is he going to come back?”
He is right there she replies, tucking
my fingers between her own.
And then she lifts my tiny bones onto a mattress
which is bumpy and I crawl towards his chest.
His eyes say “stay with me kiddo”,
and I know that I don’t want to leave this place.