I never knew my grandfather.

He was just

a wavering shimmer in my mind—

--a little boy wearing

a striped dress in an old photo

--a dad reading the paper,

rocking the baby,

smoking his cigarette
all at the same time

--a dad giving a quarter

to his daughter

when asked for a nickel

--a banker coming home one day

in 1933

to climb the stairs

lie on the bed

and cry

--a husband slumped 

over his steering wheel

dead

his wife reaching over

to take the wheel.

I learned

--too late--

his siblings

were alive and well

while I grew up grandpa-less.

--too late--

to hug his three brothers,

kiss his sister,

smell his family’s smell,

listen to their jokes and stories about

their brother who died young.

I could have seen

my grandfather’s smile

on a brother’s face.

--too late--

I am left

with just the shimmering

once again.