My Grandfather’s Shop
I recall with perfect clarity,
Yet an inability to describe,
The smell of my grandfather’s shop
From when I was a young, happy boy.
There existed a faint aura of magic
About the simple cinder block structure,
A shop wherein my grandfather fixed his old Ford,
A soft veil of dust swimming in the air, and
Filtered light pushing through the weathered translucent door.
Very infrequently I get a whiff, ever so slight,
That brings a smile to my face all these years later
As I’m reminded of my brave grandfather’s shop, and
The beautiful, innocent days playing childish games
At his home in Idaho.
My grandfather died too early, unfairly, in a daze of dementia,
Forgetting me.
I miss you grandpa,
I want to see you again, and tell you
Thanks for teaching me how to play chess, and
Thanks for all your effort in life.
I’m sorry a motorcycle accident caused you to limp and suffer,
I know pain now too.
Since I didn’t tell you as a child I want to say loudly now —
I’m proud of you grandpa, and
Thank you for my name.
Originally published at desertidaho.com
