Cords

A huge instrument used to stand tall, right there on teak

Aunty wiping it every day with a clean cloth

My grandfather insisted.

"When I was your age", he explained

"This was how we used to talk all day."

I wonder how, you could glue your buttocks to one position

For hours that seemed like days amidst seasons in months that seemed like years

He places one finger on 2, taking it all the way till it stops

He places one again on 6, doing the same

For 6 more digits, my 80-year-old grandfather

Lifts each of his fingers till my grandmother speaks from the mouthpiece

Perhaps that's the catch, holding on.

"Here, take this phone, it's easier", I said

"You can move around the house while talking."

But grandfather does not prefer thinking

Of a number of names places animals and things

When he's in conversation with her

He does not prefer to let go of where he began

Till she asks and hangs up on the other end

She asks him the most random questions sometimes

Questions about how my mother is doing

Questions about where my father is going

Questions about how I am coping up

She asks the most random questions, on a roll sometimes

Her back on the same cushions for hours at stretch

Holding the cord, as though tied down to the person on the other side

My grandfather answers in the same manner

His thighs dissolving into the stool made of raw piercing straw

He tells her, "they're happy, don't worry."

She disagrees.

She calls me to know how I've been doing

Like I'd say anything of a different kind

I receive in the other room, not moving more than an arm

I tell her we're okay, just figuring the distance out

Since we use cordless now.