Sestina for an Old Man

“Don’t bother with pouring more Water, Grandpa. I’m already up, I can do it myself.” He pretends like he doesn’t hear Me, maybe he can’t. More “polite” than A king, he’s often rude in his pursuit of chivalry. In patriarchal silence Grandpa completes these unwanted tasks, then speaks With a mournful tone, words About death and God and ends, and how he “won’t be here much longer to pour water for” you. Words About memories, zwieback, and the piano in the living room. The man gives more Sermons than Jesus ever did. I think he speaks So much because he’s afraid of disappearing. Ever since he began to lose his hear Ing he misses many a conversation, though most are insignificant; the family in silence While my aunt reminds us how “gifted” my cousins are. She’d like to think her parenting is better than That of a priest’s mother. She hates that I’m just as smart as they are. We all sit quietly rather than Argue. It’s never worth an argument in our family. Sometimes, Grandpa’s deafness is a gift, a shield from words That open old wounds and often create new ones. The world’s silence Becomes a peaceful oasis for a solemn man. But we know that he’s give more Than life to hear Again—music and debate and family games of Scattergories. He says God speaks To him, saying it’s all right. I know he just wants to rationalize his loss. I know no higher being speaks To him, and if one could, it’d say “shit happens.” Rather than See what he cannot hear, He slips to the kitchen without words To “wash dishes” or “get more pie.” Or be away from us. He disappears more To prove his worth than avoid family, but we know that silence, His silence Speaks More Than Words Here. Here, In the kitchen he stands, alive, healthy, well loved and aged, but his silence Cries, he is dead in his own eyes, and his words Are his legacy. He speaks With half a wish that he never will again, hoping what we hear will be more noteworthy than The breaking of the bread. Grandpa thinks there’s more Beyond. That “more” I’m not sure is here, But it gives him more hope than anything else. I sit in silence, A tribute to his; that speaks a sermon without words