how apt at telling others’ stories, so unprepared to face one’s own
in that groggy half-state between first alarm and foot on the floor
I think about my grandpa, dying now
The last of four, one of which I never knew and the other gone
before I really had anything but that adolescent awe
Two then, he the last and pained to speak
with lives encompassing WWII and overseas
so eager for the future, so unable to connect with own pain
I know only my lived past, no connection to the grandfathers I mourn

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