Bad Wimpfen, Germany
When I grasp
the rail rubbed smooth
over time as I climb
the stairs in the house
my grandfather built,
I spot my mischievous father
late for school
grinning gliding
his mother yelling
Schnell!
from the kitchen
infused with the nutty scent
of linseed oil
boiling into polish
she dabs
on the once-living tree
to which I add
my whorled fingerprints
aching for the grain
to retain the memory
of touch.