Mountain Dew

this morning, i strip
countless headless shrimp of their shells—
small ones for fried rice and stir-fry at the restaurant. 
i lay each, one at a time, flat across the three-or-four-finger pyre
of my left hand, and with my right thumb and forefinger, 
i pinch the shell in the center and tear upwards towards the tail,
separating its shell and its legs from its body. 

yesterday, my mother called,
said Grandpa’s in the hospital, everything he swallows 
ends up in his lungs. said he’s not allowed to eat or drink, 
he’s got a bright green IV for nutrients. 
said it looks like Mountain Dew. 

i pray to elevate / West Virginian veins. 
i think, lately, he’s mostly been valley,
and i think, maybe there’s something 
peeling his shell away.