A Fading Apostate

Wherever Grandfather went
we saw he was already gone
thinning out his presence
into shadow and enigma

his hands white from gripping
splintered doorways
rubbing rusty bolts
which once held iron locks

like the ones inside his mind
pure dementia bred betrayal
when he attacked his wife one night
with knife in hand raving

but since he was waning
he only broke her right wrist
and of course forgot about it
when the sun rose again

he could not see the workings
of his lightless inner city
frayed nerves like stereo wire
dangling and hissing discomfort

his pale lips were often still
and though eyes lie
the flicker of his lashes
told of wild strangeness

a heartbeat set to slow decrease
a ticking suitcase in his ribs
while he stood dumbfounded
muttering about the blinds

and the singing of some choir
down the road too loud he said
not believing in his world
despite the echoes of its passing

and when he took that road
we let his ashes sit
on a table as we feasted
and nobody cried

when we stranded him
inside his urn
for forgetting while we stood
and left unchanged.