A kingfisher flies across the yard

it shrieks and I am startled

mostly because there’s not really water here

just a creek that my mom left a turtle in once

My little sister, coming to sit at the table

which bends under even my thin elbows

tells me that my grandfather still smokes by way of “I didn’t know he still…”

and so I go outside to sit on the porch with him and

hope that my hoodie doesn’t smell like cigars later

I’m not sure what to say to him

he was very quiet last time I was here

I stare at his throat while he smokes and checks his phone (“this thing”) and wonder

if the reason he doesn’t shave anymore is because his skin is too wrinkled

I fall into my mother’s body a little when I’m here

same tone patient bordering on condescending

yes grammy of course it’s no problem

almost exasperated and the calmest I’ve ever been

in this house I learn to be level headed and arch

I’d never seen termite shit before

my mother told me to wipe it up

there was too much and I got one pile

flush to flush it

the shit went the paper towel didn’t

I’d never reached into a toilet before

I left my watch on top of the tank

it was surprisingly easy

the soap I used has been there maybe my whole life