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chasm2018

Sacramento 7/9/2018

Photography by me, editing by @lithographarry

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For my 6th birthday my grandfather gave me a Rubik's cube I will always be able to remember its edges Hold it in my hands Heft the weight of an overwhelming problem. I remember him telling me about it, How a Rubik's cube has 43 quintillion, - look at line 252 quadrillion, 3 trillion, 274 billion, 489 million, 856 thousand possibilities. He told me it can be really confusing sometimes, but to look at the center squares as a reminder of what color each side should be. shift We are celebrating his 50th wedding anniversary He and grandma are dancing a dance that only fragile legs and wrinkled hands know how to. That type of happiness took him 70 years to earn. The white side of the cube is solved. shift He tells me about how he met grandma His college friends had a sunset picnic She was there, As beautiful as an unsolved puzzle She was a redheaded scramble on orange tile sky. shift The hospital walls are blue The nurses explain that his memories have become jumbled strangers in family portraits - hold a photo? pictures with mismatched faces. Alzheimer's has made his mind into a Rubik's cube. - pick up cube? shift He is a highway patrolman His car is white, No no, it's blue He worked there for 30 years some nights he still does. Time is a complicated algorithm. shift The pills he holds are yellow - look at color order and red and green the weight of their color causes his hand to drop I try to shift his tiles back into place But people don't have center squares. shift My sister's wedding is white but he doesn't know why. - look at line shift World War Two is every color the south pacific is blue, the islands are green There is so much red. shift Grandpa, Table, Cube, Names scrambled California Guitar grapefruit highway Wedding bell wars Stick shift rifles shift shift shift shift shift shift shift shift The temperature of his hands is blue. Death is colorless. I will always remember his edges Hold him in my hands Heft the weight of an overwhelming problem. I was unable to attend his funeral, - look at line I never found out the algorithm to solve him. A Rubik's cube has over 43 quintillion possibilities. A casket only has one.

“Rubik’s Cube” by Benjamin Barker

In which the writer meets his father for the first time since his father’s death And he’s just standing there. Like his feet have forgotten they aren’t supposed to be stubborn any more, I wake up wailing in the dark and I think it’s my dad’s name. And he’s still standing there In our old garage the smell of rust and mold and dust Your car used to be right here. Do you remember that car dad? Do you remember this place dad? Dad I know you were sick. The neighbor called the sirens to come for you You said we did that to you Like you couldn’t believe the betrayal Dad did you forget I’ve always been a siren. Dad I hear sirens when I dream. Or is that just you? When he finally opens his mouth, Where his tongue should be a pair of headlights careens forward where he was found in the street passed out in an alcoholic daze He says my name but it’s not my name I don’t understand his voice. When I say I don’t understand his voice, I mean his voice is the sound of the car’s breaks. I mean his voice is the sound of ribs splintering and popping. I mean his voice is the voice of the man driving the car. I mean I don’t know what my father’s voice sounds like - l I mean I don’t know if it still sounds like love or abuse or forgiveness or blame or a siren We don’t even call you dad anymore Just him Like you don’t have a name or a body Dad we threw away all the pictures of you Dad how do I stop blaming your grave for everything that goes up in smoke Dad I never visited you in the hospital before you died They said even while you were in a coma Your body was going through withdrawl without the alcohol Like it kept screaming in its sleep Because it missed the thing that had broken it Dad, How long do withdrawal symptoms last?

“The Writer Meets His Father” by Patrick Roche