Things We Hold Close

By Aniya Greene

This piece reflects upon my relationship with my grandfather. His lasting presence in my life is a part of my personal history, one of the many things I hold close.

It is the same couch 
but somehow different

Eleven years ago, I 
Watched soap operas with Grandma
Your home was my jungle gym
Climbing on pipes 
On summer mornings
Too early for you to walk me to the  park

It is the same couch in new walls
Your one room farther west

We watch baseball now 
I try my best to keep my eyes open
Halfway through the fourth inning
You share your Bible verse with me

You turn on that lamp
The one that formerly sat next
To your old recliner
Decorated with its gold shade
The pages of your Bible illuminated
By yellow light
Book of Psalms
Your most loved verse
The Lord is my shepherd
I shall not want

I think of you now as I ride the bus
Past 125th Street
Trips to Magic Johnson Theater
Movies of my youth that you 
Shared with me
I pass 119th Street
Your home
Knowing I should 
Be there with you
On that couch
Pass Marcus Garvey Park
To see the swings

You pushed me so high
Thinking back then 
I could touch the clouds
You taught me to swing myself
To elevate
So that one day
I might fly high enough
To touch the clouds

What comfort you get from your Bible 
You hold it close
Psalm 23 
Proverbs 12
Those I may never know

You tell me stories, call out verses
Offer to accompany me to a Sunday service 
I go when you ask, rarely on my own.
I go because we share time
Time on the couch
Watching baseball games
That seem to have no end
I go not because I pray before bed
Not because I have verses
Memorized
Although perhaps I should 

It must be a sin
Not to love God
Like you
Disappointment 
When you look at me
Pain in your heart I see
The prayers for me
Have they been wasted?
Nevertheless you keep praying 
Reading your Bible verses
For me in case I decide
To set my heart free

But what comfort your voice brings me
Pained by the thought
That someday
I may no longer hear it
And like my grandmother’s
I'll have no recollection
Of the sound

I save the voicemail messages
The mundane
“I’m just calling to check on you”
“Aniya, it’s me”
Your voice takes room in my phone
I hold onto them for years
Like you hold your Bible
And in the meantime
Save our time on the couch