For Pop

A poem written in response to losing my grandfather.

I still hear your voice, and see your

 rough summer-browned skin

coaxing me to do this or that,

but me stubborn and steadfast

refusing to budge your way.

And you…you would just smile.

 

Skin taut, muscles tight, and bones tired,

but dogged in strength, and me

rising up with determination

so you could not hold me at all…

your brown-eyed curly head girl that

looked so much like you.

 

Our first summer without you and it

burns inside, like bare feet on sticky hot tar roads.

We used to eat ice cream straight from the box

on days just like these. 

But I am not that child anymore.

 

I listened to your stories and heard their anecdotes,

while sunlight stretched into shadows

and shapes faded into half-light; and within them

I would get lost in your lifetime.

Summertime doesn’t feel the same anymore.

 

Now, in the same fractured waves of dancing light

that traps dust and spins it around,

I hope that I have grown up to be

the woman you would expect of me.

A woman with just an ounce of your soul and personality.

 

I hope that I can be rough and gentle

With the same summer-browned skin

coaxing my children to do this or that.

But I am still me, brown-eyed, stubborn and steadfast

refusing to budge your way.

And you…I bet you are smiling.

 

 

February 9, 1935  -  August 4, 2000

Reviews

[nothingnothingforgetfor..]

Very touching story, my condolences. Really wonderful piece! Keep smiling.