Sometimes

Just something I wrote about a family reunion of sorts

His leather chair is a throne:
green as emeralds, soft and smooth as a cool hand on a forehead.
Grandfather sits in it and watches
the Sunday night game.
(Grandma and Aunt Joan given the privileges of stiff chairs;
my sister and I on the stone fireplace.)
Sometimes
More often than we would like to admit
a continuously refilled glass of amber scotch is by his side.
Sometimes
I don't think he even realizes how often he raises the crystal [only the best] glass
to his lips.
When he isn't there, we fight over that green throne. Tomorrow, I will win it:
will sprawl and relish the feeling of sitting on a cloud.
Sometimes
if I pause to think
I will see how not me and not David and not Daniel, not even Uncle Richard,
is big enough to fill and occupy the green throne quite like my grandfather can.
Sometimes
I wonder what will happen if one day, I sit by the fire and Aunt Joan sits on a stiff chair
but there is no large, warm presence in his emerald throne.
Sometimes
I am scared because no Sunday night football game could ever be the same.
Sometimes
I see a bottle of scotch and I give a small half-smile because it reminds me of my grandfather:
his smile, his laugh.
His poison.

Author's Note

It's a rough draft, so please offer any constructive criticism you can think of!

Reviews

[Jacquelene Vanessa More..]

i like the visual imagery in this poem but i think you can do without the parenthesis. also it's slightly a lil repeatitive and a somewhat too detailed. just a little sharpening. other than that i like your first line it captures you