21
Grandfather was growing blind. He sat in his chair beside the window.
He went out of the house only on holy days—to synagogue.
Rosh Ha-Shonoh the boy led him to Brownsville, both afraid.
Nothing happened. But on the way back a boy, driving a
        grocer’s wagon, drove near them
and leaning out, cracked his whip above their heads.

Yom Kippur Uncle went with Grandfather.
It was night and they had not come. They should have been
         home by twilight to break their fast.
The boy went down to the stoop to wait.
Grandfather was coming alone.
“Where’s Uncle?” Grandfather did not answer. In his hurry upstairs he stumbled.
He went to his chair beside the window and sat looking into the night.
Tears rolled out of his blind eyes and fell upon his hands.
Uncle came, bare-headed, blood oozing out of his hair.