my grandpa was made of soap

my grandpa was made of soap
and wrote books about uprisings
he’d give me wind-up bears
each bear had a little key in its back
if you turned the key
the bear’d come alive
and slowly blankly turn circles
our gazes never met
once in winter
I found grandpa’s letter to my dad
sent to Yakutia
where dad was washing gold
it was a didactic letter
consisting of platitudes
it was written in the lovely handwriting
of grandpa’s ichthyologist wife
it swims against the current down the dark
hallway
and looks at me
looks