I.
My grandparents lived upstairs
where I could barely reach the
half-inch pipe banister painted white
and escape
I’d scale torn tread steps
in a musty rose wallpaper canyon
to a summit bookcase
filled with leather-bound
gold-leaf majesty:
the complete works of Shakespeare
if only I could read
I‘d sit on Grandpa’s lap
share Grandma’s fig newtons and papaya nectar
listen to the Yankees on a humungous floor radio
glass tubes gold knobs
herringbone veneer
volume up loud
II.
Raised in a Bronx orphanage
my grandpa drove cattle in Texas
rode the cow train to Chicago’s stockyards
caught a Pullman sleeper to New York City to spend the winter
one year accompanied by an Irish lass – my grandma
scrappy survivors 5 foot 2 inches each
they raised my dad within sight of the Polo Grounds
bloodied his nose for calling Babe Ruth a bum
Grandpa kept books for a Wall Street millionaire
my brother inherited his business sense
my sister inherited his fire
she played heavenly piano
loved Frankie Valli and the cha-cha
she was the proud president of the Girls Room Association
“Elliot Mess and the Unflushables”
unafraid of the vice-principal
or our father
III.
Grandma’s spare bedroom
became my sanctuary
gallant green Army men overran
grey Germans and yellow Japanese
holed up in Lincoln log bunkers
and Lego pillboxes
defending cardboard Iwo Jima
peaceful with the door closed
IV.
Sixty years later…
overheard soap opera histrionics
provoke pyrotechnic flashbacks
old fears well up steep steps
I shake in my sister’s arms
as she rescues me
from our parents’ screaming
will he kill her this time?
