15 thoughts on “Grandpa’s Hands

  1. I believe we are both talking about the same man, you with your short, wonderful poem, me with a longer one. Both of ours voices a love for a man we will probably never see again. May I share my poem with you?


    © 2015 Barbara Grace lake

    I don’t remember Gramps with hair
    I don’t remember hair at all
    Although he must have had some
    Long before his head went bare

    There was a picture once. Gram said
    That it was Gramps. She didn’t know
    How old it was but, damn, it showed
    A lot of hair on grandpa’s head.

    A thick and wavy lion’s mane,
    Red copper colored like fall leaves
    Start turning as first frost sets in
    Before we lose them in the rain.

    I didn’t like that picture much
    It made Gramps look severe and stiff
    As if a smile or anything
    Might crack his face with just a touch

    But there were times when gramps was stern
    About my schoolwork, chores and such
    Or if I caused my mother grief,
    Then, still, he always said I’d learn.

    I don’t remember hugs and stuff
    My gramps was not that kind of man
    He’d ever gently teach me things
    Then cover up by acting gruff.

    He taught me how a piece of wood
    Could be ‘most anything I’d want
    If I’d be patient, carve and sand
    And finish building as I should

    He taught me how someone who cares
    No matter what their size might be
    Would see their home was clean and snug
    A proper shelter from life’s cares.

    He taught me every day I grew
    The way a man could show his love.
    He’d let me fall–but never far,
    He’d always be there, see me through.

    My gramps. A lot of things are there
    Reminding me I knew a man,
    But only when he’d gotten old.
    I don’t remember him with hair.

    Liked by 3 people

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