Sshh! Lets not wake grandma he whispers,
and we walk in bare feet, to the kitchen.
  coffee chugs in the worn percolator,
and his "mush" warms in the oven.

Sitting at the table, we watch out the window
for the red woodpecker,
or sometimes its a Robin or a sparrow
and once a hawk, soaring gracefully in the sky.

The radio is playing Duke Ellington ,
"It Don’t Mean A Thing If It Ain’t Got That Swing!"
"Now that was music!" he says.

He tells me again, about the wonderful dance halls,
the Plantation, The Savoy Club
Count Basie, Glenn Miller
Swinging away til dawn

He wore "zoot suits" and oxford baggies,
so stiff, they could almost stand up by themselves.
Black and white shoes, button-end suspenders,
a wide-brimmed hat.

"Franny and I could jitterbug
or Lindy hop with the best of them"
he says of my grandmother,
who is still
sleeping peacefully, and
cannot defend her dignified image.

I try to imagine him strong and agile,
lifting her high into the air,
then sliding her between his legs
on the crowded dance floor,

whirling her around and around,
swinging to the big band,
young and invincible,
so unbelievable,
that it makes me giggle.

I don’t know at this moment,
while I sip cocoa and drink in his words,
that someday,
as he reaches for his coffee cup
he’ll fall to the floor,
and lay for a while, alone amid the broken glass.

I don’t know at this moment,
that his blue eyes,
still young behind his glasses,
will finally close

as the sounds of Tommy Dorsey
and Benny Goodman
  the music of his heart,
play softly on the radio.

I only know this cozy morning
in this pleasant room,
his gentle face of love,
and then he bends low and grand,
"Care to dance?"

and I stand on his feet,
and reach for his fragile hands,
pungent with the scent of tobacco, and old spice,
My cheek pressed against
the knees of his soft pajamas,

as we dance around the room,
a strong, powerful hawk
glides somewhere outside the window,
and the radio softly plays,
"I’ll See You In My Dreams".