Afterward

Once on the porch I asked 
great-grandfather Porter a question 
loudly and he said wait 
though he was just sitting still 
his face raised to low sun 
eyes half-open 

his answers were usually 
to questions we hadn’t asked 
but made us laugh and feel better 
almost deaf he still spoke to great-grandma
buried before I was born 
and I had to ask if those gone 
are really anywhere if they know 
we’re still here 

so I sat with him on the west porch 
and smelled beets my mother was pickling
my hands red from topping them 
and his white with no spots except one 
the shape of a moth across a knuckle 
gripped over his cane that could reach us
if we crept too near 

the sun sank into sky the color 
of blueing waters from my mother’s laundry
and I heard some kind of bird tremble 
branches in the poplar over the attic 
I felt my heartbeat 
pass into another season and I thought
for the first time of summer ending

something left it slipped 
through my hands and went 
out of the yard and into the hills 
dark with trees and I looked at grandfather
who looked as if he was listening 
to music and he never turned back to me
but as night came 
he hummed the faint lullaby he used to sing
when I was small