He Hung Onto My Every Word This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   Grandpa -

I'm so happy he looks better.



His pants, once a zillion sizes too big

fit him now.

His long-sleeved shirt covers chafed skin.

He comments that he likes my father's green corduroy slacks;

contemplates ordering a pair from the Land's End catalog.



He seems bored -

I don't blame him.

What is there to do in Queens every day?

Sitting in a stuffy apartment all day -

that can't be exciting.



He didn't go to temple for the Holy Days this year,

didn't feel up to it

The men in his congregation thought he was dead.

In a sense he was;

he had no interest or activities, but

one visit I spent the whole day talking to him

telling him every interesting thing that had happened to me:



My trip to Vermont this summer,

(It wasn't much fun,

I didn't like the kids.)

My photography that went well,

How I learned about light,

(but my pictures weren't so good).



Nothing I did could be bad,

according to my grandpa,

who sat there,

remembering me as a toddler,

how my eyes lit up

the second he entered the room.



Leaning forward,

each of us looking deeply

into our identical blue eyes.

he hung onto my every word.



The next visit he came back to life.




This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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