Inheritance

last dream before waking

My grandfather never died; he simply lost all animation. We carry him from house to car to house, & his pale thin figure is able to hold any pose indefinitely.

He doesn’t eat, so he never goes to the bathroom — a relief for everyone. Some of us do put words in his mouth: I know what Pop-pop would say, we say, & maybe we do, but his expression never changes.

He’s sitting right there when the four siblings meet to divide the estate. He was always good at not hearing things, though, & this morning is no exception. The room turns to coal around him. We are shining our headlamps at the shale ceiling & its yellow shapes of ferns. We are listening for canaries.

After a lifetime in the oil industry, it must seem strange to return to the hard coal country of his childhood, but at least Pop-pop doesn’t need a light. This is an outcome he’d recognize — one he set aside after his famous talk with God. I hear his nose drip behind me like the stalactite it was always trying to become. Someone says, Black as the ace of spades! with a nervous laugh, & it sounds just like him.