Grandaddy

Dear Grandaddy,

The night that you 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—

My passionate love of words, of art in language—

From you.

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

But something in me woke that night

As I sat on the tiny bathroom counter and cried.

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

(Okay, I pulled out my iPhone,)

And I thought about what made you such a wonderful man

And this is what I have to offer you:

You 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 you lived—

Please, God, let me live as he lived—

I’ll understand those things as well

As you did.

Always,

Your granddaughter