Crossed Line (Poetry)

For Grandfather

I got to fear towards the end
we each were having a different conversation.
For even as a talked I knew
you didn’t catch that many words
but nodded every now and then
judged intervals as though
not to have attempted to do so
would have seemed aloof — unsociable.

Your hearing aid’s shrill whine
a mosquito hovering in the background
keeping plastic time.
There were those few occasions your expression changed —
as if an idea dawned
and gave you sudden unexpected pleasure
so you smiled.
I took this as encouragement — went on...

Looking back I think your old self heard
echoes of some long-ago exchange
words triggered randomly — recalled
by odd connections — gestures
far more subtle than mere language
became thought’s simpler dialogue.
And what to me might have appeared a hopelessly
                                crossed line
for you — despite your isolation — rang sweet and true
                                as love made clear.