the prayer to Grampa

time recedes,
and memory bleeds
too-short memories of you;
I was only 13 when you died,
and I remember,
forty-two years hence,
how I convulsed,
how I cried,
when the sirens were quieted,
and Dr. Baxter came out
from your room,
and said the obligatory
"I'm sorry" and then trudged
down the hall of the hospital,
to the next aggrieved family;
Oh, Grampa,
I need you now more than ever,
as life throws one curveball after another;
please be here with me,
sharing an apple,
or some fish drenched in molé,
as I unload all my uncertainties,
to you, a man always so certain:
"measure twice, and cut once,"
you taught me,
and now I need you to help me
measure the second time,
because She is too precious
to lose because of an inaccurate
She is the world, and I am merely
a distant moon;
and I swear, on the heads of your
that She is the One,
whom, down through time,
I have chased, and sometimes
gained, the One that was always
my aim;
so please, Grampa,
help me to claim
what I seek:
contemplating any loss of whom,
makes me weak.

November 16, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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