My Roots

for my grandpa, passed 7 years ago today

He never did say much

And I’m not so convinced it was the language barrier

Because he had eyes which spoke of things

You can’t explain to your granddaughter.

 

I think he lost track of time in his garden

But when I was a little girl,

I never thought about

What he thought about

Outside by himself securing weak branches with string.

 

He could have lived like a hermit

Surrounded by a shell of greenery,

An ecosystem all his own.

 

I don’t think he needed much else

But there’s something about a tiny hand

Surrounded by the magnitude of a larger more wrinkled one

That suggests even hermits welcome company.

 

He was a man who did not want help.

So when his garden started to die, so did he.

 

He wasn’t alive to see the seed I planted

Which dug its roots deep into my skin.

 

I never did say much

Because there are things

You can’t explain to your grandfather.

 

Or anyone.

Reviews

[Zeitgeist Manifesto]

This is an amazing touching write.
Beautiful story.

[C.N.Moore]

This is absolutely beautiful - it's never easy to reflect on those who've passed that we love and miss every day - but to immortalize their memory in word, truly a beautiful thing.

My brother passed about the same as your grandfather - I just wrote of him for the first time in the almost 10 years he's been gone. It was so very hard - and I applaud you for both writing, and sharing your grandfathers memory. Great great write.

-S.C.Hahn