For Grandad P.

I.

Coming up the driveway, I see Grandad on the porch

Shaking out rugs.

“It’s chilly out here, you know that?” he says.

I say, “My hands are cold.”

Put them on his; he agrees.

I have a thought

As I turn to go across the yard.

What if, one day, I come up the driveway

And I see Grandad on the porch

Shaking out rugs

And he says,

“Who are you?”

II. 

Long white hallways, austere.

Open doors, vacant patients.

“I’m looking for my grandad.”

A kind janitor tells me he’s in the café.

Big smile. “Hi Grandad!”

Confusion, then recognition:

“You’re my granddaughter!”

He’s too weak

To hold the photo albums I brought;

I turn the pages for him, but his thoughts wander.

“Aren’t you getting an award sometime soon?”

“Not that I know of!”

“How many people are coming for Easter?”

“It’s November, Grandad!”

He thinks I am there to take him home.

“Your job is to stay here and get strong, Grandad.”

My tears slip free

As I escape through the parking lot.

III.

Thirteen days after he’s gone,

I drive up to the house

And see that the lawn is freshly mowed.

My first thought: Grandad cut the grass!

I remember the long summer afternoons

Listening to the little lawnmower that could

Drone across the lawn

As he meticulously cut the grass

And the pride in his eyes

When I mowed my small section of lawn well.

He will be with me every time someone says, “So …”

And I hear his voice in my head answering:

“Sew buttons on ice cream.”

I never got that joke.

But I remember his love of ice cream, and his favorite flavor: butter pecan.

Going back even further

In the halls of my memory:

I remember him driving down the middle

Of Ed Prout Road in his truck;

His assurances that we wouldn’t meet anyone,

And if we did, he would see them in time

And move over.

And my earliest memory of him:

His scratchy voice

Reading me The Minpins before bed.

Sleep well, Grandad.

I’ll see you in the morning.