Grandfather’s Chair

“I sat in my grandfather’s chair and heard his voice.”

I sat
before the sea
in my grandfather’s chair
and felt the knowledgeable breeze;
and heard his voice.

He spoke gently –
each word embraced
like waves to the shore –
of catfish
and men:

Unwanted bottom-feeders
thrown back in disgust;
having spent all their lives
sucking for sustenance
on sparse, sandy floors.

Floors filled with
fermented feces
that no longer float –
cured
but, still troubled.

Yet the catfish feast
in these third-world seas.
and they wait
For the heavenly fisherman’s
Sunday summit.

They wait
for that one chance –
of escape
of salvation –
only to be thrown back.

I swam
in my grandfather’s sand
and felt his freedom.