My Name on His Tongue: Poems

grandfathers

18 grandfathers it is summer I am in class my book is thin with brown pages like tissue the words are not in English the professor is not American he speaks of the classics: Hussein, Mahfouz, Idris . . . they are the greats one day you will read them all he speaks of philosophy whose words I cannot understand I daydream I am nine years old with my grandfather inside his favorite book shop which smells old he speaks of the classics: Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Faulkner . . . they are the greats one day you will read them all he pulls thin-spined books from the shelves they are filled with brown pages like tissue he piles them into my waiting arms 19 I am still in class the teacher speaks of greatness his words are not in English but I understand them on the corner of the thin white book with pages like tissue are pictures of men in blue robes surrounded by black letters my grandfather could not read I devour them in his honor spit them back in English in his memory ...