Poem: Grandpapa’s Words

By: Robert A. Davies

grandpa

I am sitting at the dinner table
eating a frozen yogurt
chewing away.

Suddenly I am 70 years back
sitting on the front porch
with my grandfather,
chewing on our ice milk
wooden spoons in hand.

It happens every time
I eat yogurt:
I have walked to Haller’s
for a dime gotten half pints,
and it is all delight
no need for words.

I am eating my yogurt
my wife, her ice cream.
To her the silence seems awkward
but I cannot find the words.

The last words I heard
before my grandfather died
were no words at all
but the slightest pressing of my hand.

***

Robert A. Davies has published in recent years largely online. He has been writing poems seriously since 1969. He has published Timber, Tracks in Oregon, Melons and Mendelssohn, and Bluff Hollow. He was co-editor of Mr. Cogito for about 20 years. He has recently appeared in Dissident Voice, Hollywood Progressive, Literary Yard and Windfall. rjdavies3@comcast.net

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