Once a small boy

 ‘once a small boy’ Trgates,6/21/2025. 

as a small boy I remember that 
unique old person’s smell. 
at four my father’s dad died,
thought he was asleep in his chair 
walking in with Mother,
she did his laundry. 
he wasn’t sleeping, 
in my dreams that night 
we talked in heaven. 
then the others died over the years 
at 91, 98, 101 —
understood they were ready
“to go home,” each would say,
thought they already were,
certainly have come to understand. 
their stories remain alive within,
part of my search library 
accessible in my brain’s scrolling,
funny it’s getting crowded with mine
funny old people don’t seem as old
funny when you realize 
you’re the age of those once really old —
starts earlier than you might think.
not so funny, yet it is,
old people’s smells are circumvented 
by not being here long enough. 
once a small boy belly-laughed
with people seeming to be old,
they passed on this gift 
to when I’m laughing with 
ones seeing me like those beloved. 
Ha, smiling. 

Note: “When an old person dies it’s like a library burns.”  - Riverbank Frank