Snapshot of Grandpa Bruce upon reading A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings

The very old man with enormous wings reminds me of him. He too was very old and had a certain light of which only a glimmer remained. He would never allow us to watch television at night and instead read to us while we sat comfortably on his bony, fragile lap. His lips were purple and the skin looked so thin I thought it might break if I poked it with my finger. He drank warm beer and fed his dog, Ben, bland oatmeal on saltine crackers.

Once, my dog, Cinder got hold of a squirrel after it had eaten bait. Cinder went mad. I could hear him howling, a sound worse than coyotes fighting, worse than a woman screaming as her baby crowns and worse than anything I have heard since. I lay, hysterical in Grandpa Bruce’s lap while he stroked my hair and sang me songs from his youth with messages that did not make sense to my generation but had a soothing tone to them.