He finishes his bagel
and hands me a broom,
waves his hands around the shop,
First order of business,
and I know what to do.
He sits in his high stool
over his long workbench,
tools arranged in an order
only he understands.
He’s coughing.
He coughs more now than ever.
He says, I’m just old,
this is what happens.
I keep sweeping,
pull my pants up over my belly.
I walk over to the new box,
tap on the top;
it feels heavy, solid.
That? he says. I smile.
With my grandfather,
I rarely need words.
That, my boy, is a box
of priceless treasure
from a world so old
it will sound like a fairy tale to you.
That is my treasure from the Old Country.
From Prague.
It was all I could take with me.
It’s been hidden away
since your father was a boy,
but I think it’s time
to maybe unlock its secrets again.
Time for you to learn even more about our story.
He laughs, but it turns to a cough again.
He tries to stop coughing.
He motions with his hands,
Get me a glass of water.