My Grandfather’s Bed by Arundhathi Anil (Lucent Dreaming Issue 12)

I sleep on your side of the bed. Beside
My grandmother. Pickled grief spreads
Its furry feet in the hollow on my back
And travels upward over skin and settles

In glittering corners of open eyes. I am sorry
For shrinking from your touch, I am sorry
For being repulsed by the years, work and
Days of hands arranged upon your body

Within folds of thin powdered skin. I was
Infuriated by the stories you told every time
I visited, and every time you were amused
And lost in them. You were proud of my stories

And amateur poetry, showing them off to
Guests. I remember you loved Thomas Gray
‘Full many a gem… Full many a flow’r…’
And yet, your stories were tawdry – travellers

Shitting under coconut trees and unwashed
Bottoms. You laughed each time you farted.
You adored my sister. She made you laugh.
Her loudness slicing through dementia and

Parkinson’s. I never was loud, and I regret it
Deeply. You loved your daughters. And I am
Sorry that I slithered out of your propinquity.
You never did cease to reach. I am sorry

For not meeting your eyes when you talked
In those days when you had begun to forget
Speech. I am sorry for touching you with wooden
Respect when love had begun to withdraw entirely

Into feeling caresses. I am sorry for not crying
When grief was delivered over phone five
Thousand miles afar. I offered a moment of
Silence on the altar of kinship, and to girlhood

Yet another. I had pasta for dinner to fill the lack
In me. I grieve now, folding sleepless on your
Side of the bed, beside the living and the healing.
I apologise, profusely, I remember, and I write.

Arundhathi Anil is an Indian poet and undergraduate English Literature student at the University of York. Her work has appeared in the Yolk Literary Journal, the Literary Yard and the Ice Lolly Review.
T: @arundhathianil2 | I: @arundhathii_anil

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