WEBVTT

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OK.

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This is a poem that I
wrote for my grandfather

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that I call "A Real Story."

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"Sucking on hard candy to
sweeten the taste of old age,

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grandpa told us
stories about chickens,

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city chickens sold for Sabbath
soup but rescued at the end

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by some chicken-loving
providence.

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Now at 95, sucked down
to nothing himself,

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he says he feels a coldness,
perhaps the coldness

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David felt even with
Abishag in his bed

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to warm his chicken-thin bones.

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But when we say
you'll soon get well,

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grandpa pulls the
sheet over his face,

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raising it between
us the way he used

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to raise the Yiddish paper when
we said, enough chickens, tell

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us a real story."

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