Yellow From the Smoke - Poetry

Yellow From the Smoke

You used to tap me when I was little, to sleep, you thought Cigarette burning endlessly, the sixth of your perfectly painted fingers Jeopardy clapped and cheered on the telly, but I would lie awake with my eyes closed Pretending for you Waiting for that next gentle tap on my body I learnt early on never to mention his name around you It would make you raise your voice and point a scarlet nail “Your grandfather…” and it would go on for hours So I pretended not to know him and asked you again for a story The same three stories A bomb near the bus stop during the war, At bingo yesterday, you didn’t win a bloody pound, and my uncle who hasn’t bothered to call in months

He was different, quiet and gentle in his airy one room flat He would offer me a seat, so I sat and watched mum make us tea His eyes blue from blindness smiled at me behind his bottle glasses He would tell us about the lovely tree just outside in the garden The ghost that haunts the priory but he’s never seen it himself And I would laugh along with his deep laugh and mention your name by mistake “Nana? Oh you mean to say my wife?” Thirty years a part but he still called you his wife It was alright if I mentioned you, but he would look off, blue eyes skimming over memories Mum saw the metal springs that pierced their way out of the mattress and asked him why he didn’t get a new one. If I did, he said, there wouldn’t be enough money left to leave your mother when I die.

The candle on his coffin could burn nonstop for one whole week the minister said It was thick and oily like hardened fat But you weren’t there to see it flicker The day after he was put into the ground You bounced through the snow to the bank A skip in your Irish step Your cigarette was too soggy to light But it didn’t matter You were gleaming and ready for your money That day I lost Two My grandfather in the ground And you still in your smoky flat The walls stained yellow And the curtains red and heavy and I can hear your voice in my head, jabbering on the phone over the loud cheer of the telly Telling all your bingo friends of your latest win.