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Bruno

Her grandfather was a tall man
a man who once built a boat to hunt the eels in the waters out back
a man who would use a special shovel to find oysters, in the summer sand
seagulls circling his head
he opened the hard, barnacled shells
with a small knife he kept in his pocket
he opened the seashell and opened his mouth,
sliding the creature in
salt and minerals swimming across the tiny taste buds
of his strong mouth, his handsome face
he would eat this, his lunch, from the land
and throw the shells back to the water
one time accidentally hitting a gull, knocking it out
and the flock became a flurry
diving, trying to peck the blue out of his eyes
he was a carpenter and made a couch out of deep chocolate wood
and covered the pillows in a red fabric that hinted of something
Far East in the pattern
he sailed along the sound,
out from the summer beach house of open winds,
brine carrying all the way through,
tainting her mother's bed

He was a loving man
the captain above the deck,
keeping his family safe in the storm
once caught too far out
the skies dark, wind carrying foam over the bow
caught too far out into the ocean to make it back,
safe to the softer swell of the harbor.
ropes had come free, and her mother, then just a girl,
went out to secure them once more.
she was caught in a shower of hail
unable to return to the inside
the hard cold pellets bloodied her ears
ripping them as she laid,
arms out, legs out,
twisted around the boats lining to stay aboard.
the mother gave the girl up for dead.
once the dark had passed,
and Bruno had saved the boat
had saved his family
he came down from the captain's perch
to find his daughter dripping blood
and wouldn't speak to his wife for a week.

He was a great man
who ate things he found in the forests too
squirrel or raccoon
the old ways of the Italians, who had come from the high Alps, full of game
like a man he ate meat three times a day
like a man he drink and took cigarettes from a coffee-table laid out for guests
like a man he sat at the head of the table,
this man she wishs she had known,
then one day,
when he was just 45,
he fell from his seat,
his heart stopped,
and he was gone.
her mother, who is now in her fifties,
worries she will meet Bruno, her father,
once again
in heaven
and think he is hot

For my grandfather Bruno--I wish I could have know you.