It’s just a stack of pages
held together by three
brass fasteners —
a genealogy that traces
the migration of our family.
My Grandpa, Big Earl, gave it to
me when I was a kid.
He used to tell me I needed
to do two things or I’d
regret it: learn the piano
and take photographs.
I get so angry that he isn’t
around anymore,
like the ones we love die
before we have something useful
to tell them. I imagine sitting
at a table, neither of us
kids, with a little life under our
belts where we can finally discuss
the good stuff.
There are so many questions
now and I’m just left to consult my
knotted memories.
I just have to use
what I’ve managed to gather.
Whatever I’ve decided to pick
up along the way.
I look down at this stack of pages.
I’ve read through it many times
over the years, each with a new
set of eyes, pulling things from
it that I didn’t appreciate before.
Maybe my Grandpa knew it
would be like this, him writing
at his typewriter, communing
with all these future versions
of myself, like we were sitting
at that table, talking about
the good stuff.
At the end of the day, we sit back and collect
all of our pages — hold them
together with three
brass fasteners.
What I've Managed to Gather
Ian Valor