The Very last of the Thanksgiving Suite
I was born
I sent a message to the future
To my first-born grandson
If he remembers
After I have gone
If I live.
I might have written the message on a scrap piece of paper
With a chewed pencil
Left it for the future in a wooden box.
I might have written the message into a journal
[I didn’t keep a journal]
I might have prayed it in the synagogue
A spiritual creation lurking between the suns
Until the time was
[I didn’t pray].
I sent it through the post.
Grandfather sent me a message
Into the future
On the night of Thanksgiving
He sent it in the least likely way
He who always tended me well
When I was a boy.
I stood in a doorway on this particular Thanksgiving
And told a story about my Grandfather
And just as I came to the punch line
It was the story how Grandfather had rescued me —
I received a text message
Something for me only he said
He sent it text message.
I was least expecting a message, at all
But a text message was so clever
Long after his departure
His voice returns to me.
I carry his voice with me always,
But this —
The name he called me that was reserved for him
The expression he sent by text which only he said
The way he filled me up when I depleted.
I love you enough, he taught me,
When you are diminished
You may take from me,
I love you enough —
When you are partial
You may fill from me,
I love you that much —
When you feel less
You may draw from me
I am more,
And I have been created to be your grandfather
And you have been created to be
You may live all your lives this way,
Don’t forget what we are
For each other.
There is no shame in need
To be whole.