We were sitting in the family room and audibly acknowledged the fact that today is February 15, my grandfather's birthday. My dear grandpa has been gone for 8 years this coming March. Thinking of him takes me back to being only four feet high. Last year, for my poetry course, I wrote a poem reminiscent of my good times with Grandpa. I think it very fitting to share it with you here.
First, let me explain. It is a combination of memories of a game that we would play. We called it Ding-Dong because of the motion my legs would make when he picked me up. The game always ended with his fingers right under my arms, tickling me to no end. And the thought of it still makes me smile.
Enjoy!
playing ding-dong
I remember…
The musk of his cologne
Filling my senses with safety.
Mom says to come for our goodbyes.
I await my turn, the anticipation bittersweet.
He quietly shakes my dad’s hand, enveloping his son in a firm embrace.
Thanks my mother for his favorite meal.
The clock ticks on loudly, a reminder of the time spent
I skip up and down. my turn my turn my turn
“Here’s my girl!” He lifts me up
Cheek to cheek my face grazes his whiskers
Security in a little scratch he holds me tight
Lifting me so I can’t touch the ground my eyes clamp shut
Swinging legs back and forth
back and forth ding
Dong ding-dong
I’m a bell. I’m the belle.
the feel of his perfectly starched white shirt
now creased from our embrace.
the way his eyes smile
a conversation in a wink
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