Poem by Yonit Bousany

Photo by Bill Perrault



in my grandparents’ house

sandwiched between boxes of cufflinks
pantyhose and silk scarves
I find my uncle’s retainer
forty years old it sits gums-up
naked but for its matchbox throne

downstairs I make raisin toast
my grandmother is seated amongst bags
of fortune cookies and soy sauce packets
piles of clipped coupons and a basket
of fake fruit where, in between the pear and
perhaps a plum, peek out the corners
of yearbook photographs
she says without turning,
that smells good
and I say,
can I make you some breakfast
she is eating matzah and asks me if
I am on a diet

we couldn’t find sheets so my mom
is sleeping on duvet covers
the bed in her room is made
and I ask her if she would like
to re-meet her childhood
she prefers her brother’s bed
leather suitcases piled at the foot
the whole room sepia but for
a violet cotton cover dropped carelessly
over a bare mattress, empty luggage

my grandmother is worried I will forget my toothbrush
in the pink bathroom she points to a clump of yellowed bristles
she says, you did last time
I say my uncle hasn’t come back for his retainer, either

downstairs it is 7:30 in the morning and we leave
for the ferry,
a box of matzah for the road