old fingers

you deleted

cleared
everything onhis
computer

you told me chattily.

my goodness, you said
he must have found that back-up
button and
never stopped using it

you said.


and your words create
a
strange hole in my chest.

a picture of my grandfather
old, hunched,
gnarled-tree like his
fingers growing into the computerkeys
as he hits Control S over and over.


I ask, knowing the answer,

if you had saved, any, maybe
one
or something,
of his backups.

Oh no, you said,
i didn't see anyneed.


and i swallow
hard and quietly
blowing silent
kisses to his old
(gone)
fingers on the keyboard.