I still remember your finger-tips; Yellow-stained and course. Back when Golden Virginia
Was Golden Virginia and not Murky brown and faceless
Back when I could recall your face.
Sitting in your living room
Dinner tray on your lap And a movie I’m far too young to watch
Showing me parts of a woman
I’m too young to understand
And too afraid to ask dad about.
Why are they so rough, Grandad?
I would ask, when you held out your palms.
Hard work, son.
You would say,
And go back to rolling; Fleks of Golden Virginia staining my skin.
I don’t eat fish now
But for you
I’ll go to the lake again.