Tell me about your day, Grandfather says.
Where were you when the earthquake happened?
I take a bite of the brown bread,
push the plate away.
I was okay. I had this.
I hold up my green bareket,
then try to tell him everything I can,
words here and there,
about the Agbayanis
and the forest and the pool
and about Malia,
and Blankie and pandesal.
I don’t stop until the brown bread
is all nibbled away.
My throat feels dry from talking so much,
and I can see my grandfather is surprised because he’s nodding and smiling
with his lips pushed out.
He grabs my face with both of his giant hands.
This is great, Etan, perfect timing for Rosh Hashanah.
We have much to be in awe about.
We look inward, and rejoice outward!
You should tell the rabbi about all of this.
Then I notice something strange.
Something out of place.
The old wooden treasure box
is right next to him
on the floor, the lid slightly open.