Vowel Shift

The papers fell from the book,

stiff and yellowed as a fingernail.

My grandfather’s name is typed in ink

that didn't quite take to the page.

At the counter, my father tries to say

the name of the pill he needs.

The pharmacist leans in, squinting,

as the "th" turns into a "d"

and the "r" rolls like a stone in a creek.

He still smells like that wool coat,

sour and salt, the scent of a trunk

that sat in the dark for three weeks.