I never really talk about you as often as you come up.
No body really asks, I suppose.
But I never inquire, either,
&so memories grow faint, but are re-drawn over &over
until your face turns in to a scribble of words, Irish Spring soap, and amateur radio.
&I am trying hard to keep at least one picture of you in my heart`s dog-eared album.
What with your English Leathered neck and hands, trips for quartered frozen treats, microwaveable pretzels, &spritzer cookies slightly burned.
Maybe I`ll cry when I ease myself in to the well-worn crackled seats of a classy 911,
or tear up if an overweight terrier greets me in the morning.
Perhaps I`ll fall in love with my children`s children,
the way you did with us.
Deep down in my heart I know that I am a coward,
&yet some how I know that when I am lingering at the edge of my driveway, for the very last time,
I know, I know, I know.
I just know that you`ll be the one there, waiting to pick me up.
4 comments:
I cannot wait until you are a grandma, in fact.
Friend,
I recall this picture. What a beautiful heart you have. I miss you a lot, and never tell you enough, I think. I pray for you often. I think of knowing you 25 years from now, and the thought delights me. I love your heart, the little part of it that I know. I find now is the time to tell those you love that you do LOVE them, because later may never come. So with these pitiful things, these simple words, I have to tell you how much you have added to my life. You won't ever really know how much, words don't do these feeling justice. I don't speak often of these things, but know I would not be the same person if I never met you when I did.
I love you.
A.R.
p.s. I put some pictures on myspace and wanted to tag you. You don't have myspace anymore do you?
I got chills down my spinal cord when I read this.
Thanks.
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