Bananagrams

by Suria Tei

- for Alasdair Gray

I remember those evenings, after dinner,
we sat down and played a game of Bananagrams.
You and I, twenty-one tiles each to begin with,
of vowels and consonants, spread out before us.

You sat in silence, head bowed low
as you squinted at the pieces on the table.
And I watched in amazement as a lifetime
of words swooped swiftly down like monsoon rain
and gathered between the folds of your brows.

I watched them trickle down like
mountain springs through your veins
into your arms, your hands, your fingers,
onto the little square tiles before you.

I watched their every move
that came with every touch of your fingers,
dry and wrinkled, as eight decades of
wisdom tumbled out,

frozen in time.