oh, grandfather

the clock in the lobby of
the nursing home where 
my grandmother turned into
a handful of almonds.
a stern face. a sharp nose.
a lawyer. a German man. 
brief-case carrying & pocket watch
eating. the man from my mother's
faded wallet photos. 
time on the Alzheimer's floor
is filtered through the echo
of the out-of-tune piano,
is played out in the body
of my grandfather. 
come night
when most of the nurses
had gone home & no one was
visiting 
the clock would toll,
startling her in her blue
track suite, her finger nails
painted a soft dull coral.
the man standing in the lobby
in his nice pressed suite.
he promised her everything,
a house in town 
with all the windows open.
my princess my princess 
my princess,
his fingers ticking.
a portrait of the moon
painted on his forehead.
they would embrace in 
the dim light. he would tell
her stories of where he
had been all these decades
& she would be angry with
him. a man's only job
is not to die. 
his throat, a long
hallway to dangle from--
she wanted to run but
remembered her legs.
the piano grinned wild 
& her husband rung again,
only louder this time
until his face went flat 
& round. painting numbers 
on his cheeks & chin.
in the mirror on her
dresser she tried 
to do the same with 
the ink pen but she had 
forgotten words & numbers.
the art work on the walls
of the Alzheimer's floor 
all have numbers hidden 
in them, the pass codes
to get out into 
the world of time. 
7, 1, 1, 5 written in the vase 
of sunflowers. she uses
all numbers as a clocks.
the year is 1973.
her husband sets his suitcase
down in the lobby. he doesn't
visit, just stands there,
white-faced & unbending. 
she doesn't call for him.
she doesn't offer him dinner.
she sits by the piano.