Dallas

A first draft from 'Kitchen Ghosts'

My grandfather,
the one I know,
surprises me,
appearing on the barstool
when I turn from the stove
with a pot of boiling pasta
in my hands.

Scalding water sloshes out,
landing just beyond my toes,
as I start and gasp.

Paw Paw doesn’t speak,
is barely there,
just sitting
and chewing
peanut brittle, though
I know

I don’t have any
in the house.