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"A Poem for My Grandfather" - Carlton Fisher

The morning after he dies
the world becomes covered with ice.
It glazes over the surface of the snow,
crusts over the car,
bends the branches of the trees.

The house is too empty.
Sounds seem to die and sink into the walls.
His chair still bears the print of his shape,
sunk into the cushions after years
of watching television alone.

I cannot sit in it,

tremble with a freezing chill
even standing before it,
this throne of the man
who has made most of my life possible,
whom I have sometimes feared,
sometimes fought with,
but always loved.

That outline of the weight of his body
is all that remains
inside the walls of this house,
as the world outside freezes,
and cracks.