My Uncle's Main

Outside the window, the heavy
earth.

The sky breathing on my face,
the wind whispering an emptiness
of you.

The landscape stretches a frown,
unresolved and desolate.
Grounds of your memory

athwart into one another-
just the way your arms
cradled my body like a pretzel.

You were strong back,
when I was weak crying
while my uncle, your son,
hunted in the wild snow.

The world seemed lighter
when you were young.
The sun met grass
at the end of each horizon.

Somehow, the scabrous land
was soft next to the rough
labor of your sensitive palms.

And I find myself whispering,
"Grandpa."