Lesbian Poetry

My Turn

In the hospital
the woman waiting
a few pastel lobby chairs down
is stumbling through German
into a tightly gripped cell phone
the intonations sound
almost nostalgic
I remind myself English
is a Germanic language
it's not a genetic haunting
but listening to her move
through the syllables
conjures old afternoons with grandpa
pouring over our family tree.

I was eager to listen to every word
he pointed to the first name
on the page, "Julius,"
like Caesar I thought
then the sound of summer rain
sinking lazily into the Texas afternoon
drew my gaze to the patio door
and the green tinge of the approaching storm.

Back to the lobby
and the book I'm trying to finish-waiting
on my dad. It's just a check up
looking for more polyps
just in case.
Back to grandpa and the way heart disease
and cancer
put my dad in chairs like these.