My father's grandma died in 1917

An envelope with black borders came

“Mom is dead, and I don't have a black dress”
my grandma cried

“You can borrow mine”, said a neighbour woman

My father, born in 1904,
passed in 1992

I visited him at the hospital
where he lay a couple of weeks
at the end
He was already unconscious when I came

Then I was called in after he died

My son, seven years old, waited in the rented car
down below in the hospital lot

He couldn't bear meeting his dead Grandpa

Some years earlier, in 1989,
I interviewed Dad on tape
He was a very good storyteller
and gave me lots of inside information
from his long life,
after later transfer amounting to three full CDs

I hear him talk, breathe, and light his pipe
now and then,
mostly from the Cloud,
though I keep the CDs up on the shelf too

When the Soviets launched their Sputnik
in October 1957,
Daddy and I went out into a field at night,
throwing our heads back,
searching the skies,
and yes, we spotted the moving star
across the heavens

Dad had allowed himself a rare drink
That almost never happened,
but he felt the significance of the moment

He held my little hand out there in the dark
and laughed as the Sputnik passed