I look at the ground
Where my 5 year old grandfather once ran 
Running to ring the rusted church bell
To warn the town
The Germans are coming

I can see my grandfather’s 8-year old footprint
He went to the market one day
And dropped the flour right then and there
In the dirt

I look at the grass
Outside of my mom’s childhood home
Where she would play badminton
With my aunt and my grandfather
The indents of the net poles have stayed there
For years and years

I walk on the street that she rode on
She would ride her bike to meet other kids her age
There is still a bike in the driveway
It’s no longer hers
It’s no longer her street

My grandfather looks at the floor
Of my bedroom, in my house
With the gray and white carpet pattern
That my mom picked out
It sometimes makes me dizzy
My cookie crumbs and tossed clothes
Cover up some of the pattern

I always sit on the carpet
Never on my chair
So I can imagine the ground he walked on
And the ground she played on