A new poem, with the usual disclaimers about poetry not being autobiography, etc. And in case you're thinking, "hey, waitaminute," yes, I know, it sounds like Plath. So?
I’m told that I resemble you. I do,
It’s true, like an Arab a Jew, I can see
Me in you, right to my left shoe, bootstrapped
And blue. Dear zeyda, dear grampa, dear Lou,
Let’s marry, let’s say our I do’s, our boo-
Hoos, our adieus. She never left you—you
Were threaded in her like a screw, staining
Her like a tattoo, drubbing and draining
Her blue. It was you, Lou, you who flew,
Old Lear, into rages and bottles and fugues,
Into the storm you flew—where I met you,
Cursing the gods and the fools who weren’t you.
And goddamnit, grandfather, I am you,
Stubborn, wicked and true. I never knew
You in life, but I didn’t need to—
And it’s not long now till I’m dust, too.