I remember my grandfather
As a man of total constancy
Quiet, capable and strong
Nothing slipped his attention
And no word passed his lips that was not carefully considered
He knew our likes and dislikes
The better to tease us mercilessly about the latter
"How about some catsup on that?" he might suggest
To this ten-year-old with an aversion to the stuff
"Come sit on my lap"
He'd entreat the shy child who loathed being jiggled
And pinched
No doubt he was the same with her
Seven years his junior
(she grew from adolescence to adulthood certain they would
marry
wondering when he'd ask)
You could almost say he raised her
In stoic silence
Alternating with pestering affection
From flamboyant flapper
(wary beneath her willfulness that the wrong boy
would get the wrong idea
before he bothered to get the right one)
Through the maze of motherhood
(one child only lest a second sink them into poverty
he was stern on this account, she claims
but surely it was for her life he feared
memories of that first miscarriage haunting)
Into a wise wife
Successful working woman
And talented artisan
They were a pair
She
Shining in the social swirl
Quick to laugh, quick to cry
Uncensored
Unstoppable
There was nothing the two of them couldn't do
Together
(the works of those four hands, two minds
and single synchronized heart bear witness
in wood, clay, cloth, paint and that gem I call Dad)
He
Wry
Vigilant
Patient
Waiting straight-faced to deflate her newest acquaintance
With his favorite line
"When I was in the penitentiary..."
(The ones who went home wondering
What he was in for weren't worth knowing
Those not so guarded learned he'd worked there)
His Sadie danced from one art form to another
As if they were stepping stones in a stream
He was there to steady her
Never to hold her back
Neither to lead
He wouldn't dream of coaxing her to solid ground
(dry feet was not their way)
The rock which grew no moss was portraiture
In clay, life-sized or maybe more
The works grew as she grew older
Sadie's Heads, we call them
His was done late in life
(in his, that is
she piles on the decades like a sculptor slapping slip
onto a work in progress)
The likeness is incontestable
The shape of the face
That nose
Lips and chin
She gave him eyes that really look at you
And this man who molded her by subtractive means
With a restraint that irked her more than he could comprehend
And whom she loved to the point of fury
Could not be glazed white and bland
I believe she wanted to make him dark green
Rich and mysterious
Unique
Quirky
Fantastic
Luminous as molten glass
Chemistry being strange
Art stranger
And hearts strangest
The mottled blue-green-beige
That emerged from the kiln
Pleased her
Better still
Surprised her
After the initial shock
Satisfaction
Here then, my grandfather's head
As variegated as the texture of their lives
And her feelings for him
As recognizable and consistent as the man who bounced me
On his knee
Now we do the jiggling
Carrying grandpa in our arms
Toting his ceramic skull behind the woman who made him
Every bit as much as he made she ###
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