Hold it to your chestand wonder if the sand inside hourglasses comes from aspecial beach. It'll turn bright pink and explode into a thousand luscious splinters, but in the morning it'll be ashamed and sneak out ofyour body without saying good-bye, and you'll remember that kiss forever by all the little cuts it lefton the inside of your mouth. It'll get suspiciousand stare at your toes. Now what? Don't invite the kiss overand answer the door in your underwear. Oh wheredoes one find love? If you rub two glances, you get a smile.Rub two smiles, you get a warm feeling.Rub two warm feelings and presto-you have a kiss. If youwere younger, you'd pull over, slide open the mouth'sred door just to see how it fits. You'll be drivinghome and see a damaged kiss on the side of the road, with its purple thumb out. The I knowyour tongue like the back of my hand kiss.
The bury me in an avalanche of tingles kiss.The I wish you'd quit smoking kiss.The I accept your apology, but you make me really madsometimes kiss. So wheredoes one find love? When you're sixteen it's easy, like being unleashed with a credit cardin a department store of kisses. Husbands and wives don'tgrow on trees, like in the old days. But when Grandma's last breathwaltzed from that room, my heart openedwide like a parachute, and I realized she didn't die.She simply found a silence she could call her own.
Once I believed the heartwas like a bar of soap - the more you use it,the smaller it gets care too much and it'll snap offin your grasp. And now -pupils fixed, chindangling like the boots of a hanged man -I press my ear to her lampshade-thin chestand listen to that little soldier march toward whateverplateau, or simply exhaust his arsenal of beats.I hate when people ask if she even knew I was there.The point is I knew, holding the one-sidedconversation of her hand. And while world war IIfunctioned like Prozac for the Great Depression,she believed poverty was a double feature,that the comfort of her adult years was merelyan intermission, that hunger would hobble back,hurl its prosthetic leg through her window,so she clipped, clipped, clipped - became the JacquesCousteau of the bargain bin, her wetsuitstuffed with coupons. so I boardeda red eyeball and shot across America,hoping the nurses had enough quarters to keepthe jukebox of Grandma's heart playing. Then grief hit between the ribs,said disappear or reappear more fully. The Everlasting Staircase"Jeffrey McDanielWhen the call came, saying twenty-four hours to live,my first thought was: can't she postpone her exitfrom this planet for a week? I've got places to do,people to be.
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