early morning footsteps
the same whistling sound
coming from his lips
as he heads downstairs
I roll in my sheets
trying to remain asleep
at distance, I hear the kettle sing
letting me know that breakfast
will be ready in just a few
he did this every day
discipline learned in a military camp
hard-boiled eggs
fresh-squeezed orange juice
and our favorite breakfast treat, bread
it didn’t matter if we’d be late to school
what matter was that we
had those tiny moments to share
twenty minutes each day
added to a hundred memories
I’ll never forget what he’d say
breakfast is the most important meal of the day
and send us on our way
we’d run to his big, pale yellow truck screaming “shotgun”
and the commute always felt short
How fast have these days,
years, decades gone
there’s not a single day
that I’m not grateful to have spent my days
next to this man
this man I consider my confidant
my advisor
my biggest influence
Growing up I didn’t call him grandpa
it made him sound old
he would say
“Papa Gualo” has remain
two words deeply seeded in my brain
I hope one day I can pass it forward
and have my grandkids feel this way
that would be his biggest wish
I’ll tell them stories of us growing up together
as I squeeze them a cup of fresh orange juice
