a poem in my pocket

We treasured time spent with Grandpa Ern and Grandma Gertie.

A matched set: hearty, elderly folk in memory-aged house,

Where they had raised two more sets together:  two boys, two girls

(their youngest one later gave birth to me).

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The tool shed and pool table were Grandpa’s sacred domain

while Grandma was queen of the kitchen, giving us a royal welcome with

glasses of sweet “nectar” and slices of buttery banana bread.

An ottoman with lid stored well-used crayons and coloring books.

A box in enclosed porch held wooden blocks and plastic cowboys on horses.

The stairs behind a curtain concealed miscellaneous household items

and a mysterious locked door (to upstairs apartment) at the top.

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Grandma smiled merrily with bright eyes and perfect rows of pearly whites;

surrounding us with her soft, warm hugs.

Grandpa peered through bottle thick glasses that magnified his dark eyes;

teasing us with tender gruffness.

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Diabetes sent Grandpa to nursing home after stubbing his toes;

of course, Grandma went with him (to be sure he didn’t flirt with the nurses).

Grandpa zoomed down the halls on his scooter

until heaven called him home and fitted him with new legs.

Grandma waved her white hanky until her final “goodbye”

shy of her 100th birthday party (we missed her…and cake)!

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