Grandfather, the Love of My Life & My Parents

They say you should write about
the things that keep coming back
When Grandfather died
they said I wasn't old enough
to attend his funeral
I had to go to school and in those days
it was a long way
for a kid my age to travel

So I never got to apologize
tell him I was sorry for the time
I hid in the bushes
jumped out and screamed 'boo'
made the colour drain from his face
watched his heart go thumpety-thump
while he clung on tight to his stick
doing his best to breathe

I never got to tell him
how to this day
the baby tomatoes he nurtured
so tenderly in his greenhouse
are still the sweetest I've ever tasted

The love of my life
isn't... coming back
so I feel obliged to write about her
usually more often than I'd like
Her ghost has a sharp tongue
but I can remember its softness too
its wetness and warmth darting in and out
though some of her words
stuck more than enough
to get me fretting and pacing
all night

Any day now
my parents will die
and there will be so much I wish I'd said
I wish I could have seen them as equals
been on first name terms
the same as regular people
not just Mom and Dad
Maybe then we could have talked
about unborn children
sex and the things that matter--
to make me less of a coward
than I am