If my grandfather wrote poetry…

If my grandfather wrote poetry,

he would do readings in small coffee shops,

In Bellingham,

Near where the Harley shop is

About a block away

He would read from a little cheap notebook

One he picked up at a gas station

This side of the mountains

Or maybe the other side

The side with the gas station

That sold the earrings

Shaped like Alaska

That he bought for my grandma

Or almost did.

But didn't, because she's gone

Scattered, across the last frontier.

He would write about those earrings

And the weight they had in the palm of his hand

Maybe

The weight of other earrings

the small bulge in his coat pocket

That weighed less than it deserved,

Those cheap earrings

He had found

Just for her

At a gas station

At a rest stop

On this side of the mountains

Or maybe that side

He can't remember any more,

He would say

It was a long time ago,

He would say.

And the crowd would believe him

After seeing the truth written in his eyes

They would listen to his words

And see the truth of them stretched across the lines of his face, one hundred miles of truth for every wrinkle

And he would turn a page in his notebook

And read,

A time shift

From finding earrings to

Standing next to his bed and

Staring

At a lifetime of earrings sprawled across it

And trying to decide

Which ones had the most value

The most memories

But of course none did

It wasn't about one pair

It was about all of them

It was about having a lifetime

To find them

A lifetime

To drive to this side of the mountains

Or maybe that side

To find them

A lifetime of weight

In his coat pocket,

He would say,

A lifetime of driving.

Reduced to

A pile of earrings on a bed

And one man

At a coffee shop

Reading from a cheap notebook

He picked up

At a cheap gas station

Smack between here and there

Stopping for a cup of coffee

With his granddaughter,

The one with pink hair

The one he doesn't quite understand

But tries

Because his wife understood her,

He says

A coffee shop smack between

Where he's been

And where he'll go,

He says,

A break from a long drive,

The only company an old truck,

an empty seat next to him.

As he travels to the next rest stop

Driving to nowhere

Looking for a woman,

He says,

Always on the Last Frontier

-- Corinna Storch