Grandaddy

The night my grandfather died was the first time I wrote a poem in a good four years. And I don't know, maybe it's because I inherited my writing genes from him--

Or maybe I just remembered how truly fond I am of the Emily Dickinson dash--

But something in me woke that night

Something that needed to speak of loss and love and pain and death, of life and what makes good and of human strength, that too.

And the best way I know of to do that

Is in poetry.

So I brought out my pen

(Which, in this case, was my iPhone,)

And I thought about what made Grandaddy such a wonderful man

And this is what I have to offer you:

He knew of loss and love and pain and death, of life and what makes good and of human strength, that too,

And I wonder if, when I've lived as he lived--

Please, let me live as he lived--

I'll understand those things as well

As he did.