of intertwined lives
always surely together. Of chopping walnuts mechanically, on large carpet pillows. I'd be extra careful to do my best even though my mom would always have to finish the job.
Then I would wait, impatiently for Him to light the fire. He would go to the garage, gather newspapers and wood, and clearly instruct, "Make the newspaper into balls to put under the grate, the put the wood on top inside it" He would stoke the fire until it hummed, a pleasent flitting guardian.
Then I would curl in myself,
on pillows under cover,
and smile to the crackling conversation,
safe in my childhood void.
Rest in Peace, beloved father and grandfather.