My Grandfather

14 Feb



My Grandfather

You said you’d be pushing up daisies soon

and not more than a year later you were dead.

You were a stalwart man, not even lightning could kill you.

I try to decipher what it was like to be you–


to get up every morning at 5

to feed and harness the horses and to milk the cows

to teach your sons to farm and how to live.


“When I was a boy, I was a towhead,” you’d always say,

as you rustled the tobacco pouch and filled your pipe,

and reconstructed what it was like to be an only child.


The day the lightning struck, you were filling your pipe

under a tree. Maybe that was why you survived the bolt from the sky–

You were too relaxed to die. It went right through you.


Now the black-eyed Susans are taking over–

I imagine you beneath them, pushing up.







2 Responses to “My Grandfather”

  1. claireaperez February 17, 2016 at 3:53 pm #

    I really like this poem…the last line really captures a great deal!

  2. I hope I’ve improved it!

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