Grandpa Acrobat

My grandfather used to be an acrobat, but the neighbors say he was a factory worker.

Some nights, the moon glowers through my window to frighten me. That’s when Grandpa swings up, knocks a crater into it, and pulls me across the ocean to his one-street village where Mom grew up. There, I sit atop an iron gate and watch him hop the neighbors’ tin roofs.

One morning, I found a piece of moon below my window. I gave it to Mom and asked if Grandpa should be swinging quite so high at his age.

“Don’t worry—Grandpa’s still an acrobat.”