PERMISSION

STEVE NICKMAN

Max left Odessa at sixteen, alone,
a tall good-looking Jewish boy with seychl,
common sense. The Czar’s army
attracted him like poisonous snakes—
here was his chance, New York in 1898.
So after all he had his war. He had malaria
in Cuba, fighting Spain. He didn’t mind.
But Max was now a name too short
for his ambition. Now he was Maximilian
and he dressed the part. His title
became Maitre-D, his dukedom
the Russian Tea Room, where émigré
ladies caught his eye.

He was my step-grandfather,
my joking curious old adventurer.
Now yellowed, gaunt and weak
he wandered among our rooms
and never knocked.

I’d met my penis when he introduced himself,
at first I was a cautious neighbor, now a friend.
He taught me all his glorious repertoire.
Absorbed in mutual celebration, I was slow
to hear my door creak open.
I froze.
Grandpa Max appeared, surveyed me,
bestowed a generous smile. He left my room
without a word, then closed the door,
rehearsing his next role:
my towering kindly slippered hero-ghost.

Steve Nickman lives in Brookline, Massachusetts and takes part in Poemworks: The Workshop for Publishing Poets. He is a psychiatrist and works mainly with kids, teenagers and young adults. He has a strong interest in the experiences and dilemmas of adoptees and their families, and is working on a book about therapy, The Wound and the Spark. Steve's poetry is forthcoming or has recently appeared in Pleiades, Nimrod, Summerset Review, Tar River Review, Tule Review, and JuxtaProse.