Grandma's House

He wanders into the kitchen
dragging his hand across the formica tabletop.
His fingertips remembering the countless potato dumplings rolled
between them for family dinners.

He sits in the corner next to the gas stove
on the red vinyl high chair every one of the children used,
his gaze moving across the worn tile floor,
up the cabinets with the tarnished metal handles to the speckled counter.

He finds himself standing before the white double basin sink
that still holds the food-stained drainer and wire brush,
the sunlight bouncing off the knife rack above the dishsoap.

He knows this is where grandma washed her silver hair
and scrubbed her dentures with the tattered blue toothbrush,
then would drift past the red chair and switch off the light
before climbing the wooden stairs to sleep.