-the unabridged history of a silent relationship  

I don’t recall any physical interactions between

my maternal grandfather and my maternal grandmother.

not even conversations related to things which had

an equal relevance to both of them. they lived in the same house.

occasionally, they were seen in the kitchen at the same time,

but with different priorities and attitudes.

he fished around for things, while she stood guard at the sink.

there was never a noticeable embrace. no kissing.

she prayed the rosary day by day out in the open.

when the Encyclopedia Britannic salesman

showed-up to hard sell the wonders located

between the impressive covers to my young parents,

she rocked in solitude, creaking in the background whispering

to each sacred bead tethered below her nimble thumbs.

she could cook just about anything authentically Italian.

he made soup, almost always of the chicken variety,

the chickens, pulled from the backyard coop to accommodate. 

at the table, they ate without quarrel or pleasantries.

I'd like to believe there was a sense of companionship there,

but more noticeably, there was only the silent respect for the soup,

the bowls of which serving as tabernacles of the table.

 

epilogue:

with the birth of my mother, the youngest of their daughters

by well over a decade, they had a total of five children,

six if you include the one son who died at birth, and I sometimes

imagine what it might have been like between the two of them

(and if you include the one who died at birth) to make the six them.

Quequechan at 1017