I played chess with my grandfather under the gazebo
his father had gambled away all the family money
so my grandfather and his brother took the train to Los Angeles
and worked for the Jews of Hollywood for 60 years
my grandfather sold records
his brother made cameras
they had worked and supported their family since they were 13
still, it’s as though the great depression were only some minor symptom of my men
my grandfather told me as much
in between the lines
like Druids set alight
still burning
roaming across the sea
we played chess under his white gazebo
while he told me about my burden
without saying anything
later when he died he called me
his maid tried to shut him up
for his throat cancer
but he spoke anyway
without saying anything
as though I had been anointed with blood
some nameless charter placed into my hands
my commission
like a family ring
a family scar
secret steps to open a passageway
an ordination
his brother was shorter and completely different
he won two Oscars for his cameras
always laughing
my grandfather’s laugh was a weapon that he kept loaded
I dreamed I entered a subterranean movie house with my father
below it a bookstore
my father follows me now
to see if I know where to go
he can’t remember
is the burden the point itself?
what is the river we’re crossing?
and what is on the other side?
we carry our household on our back
like Giordano Bruno’s memory house
cards flickering back into their rooms
the pictures of the red soul
blue diamond eyes
star maps for hair
stretched over our faces