Grandpa on the Stairs
A Poem of Memory
Grandpa is on the stairs
leading up to the cluttered office
I once imagined a castle tower. He is stepping
down onto the landing, past the little basket
of stuffed Alaskan animals—bears
of all colors, an eagle, a soft felt moose—
and I am small and smiling and calling out
Grandpa, grandpa, and he is large and smiling
and coming down to gather me up.
I remember this
and it happened that way
and it might have been true.
They say he filled his days with work,
constantly at the real estate office, constantly
shuffling papers. They say he harbored
community, an abundance of friendships.
They say he gave away his time and money
to just causes. They say laughter hung
from the corners of his mouth. They say
he was so proud of me—first grandchild—
brought into the world on the same day
as John Wayne’s birthday, a good omen.
They say he bounced me on his knee,
jiggeledy-jop, jiggeledy-jop. They say I am an echo
of him, the way he always carried a paperback tucked
in his back pocket, me in my purse, a shared love
of reading. They tell stories like stones worn smooth,
all…
