Ken Krogue

We Travel to See Great-Grandfather One Last Time

-

I tell myself that it’s the cold

of the hardwood flooring that keeps

me on the carpet outside his room.

-

He’s calling for his son Dave, or Stanley

to help him to the bathroom, so I go get them.

At night I hear his wheezing from pneumonia,

crying like one of the children

with an earache.

-

Our son Josh and I stand at the perimeter

of his room watching your Grandfather,

and mine by marriage, sleep sitting up

with his mouth open. Josh waddles in and pats

him on the leg, undaunted by the smell of age

flooding from the blankets and the humidifier.

-

I walk in to get him, and stop

in time to see a smile

and a shaking hand reach up,

oblivious to me, bridging the gap,

and touch the tiny hand.

-

Ken Krogue