I still call out,
But there is no longer
Any voice in return.
He had such old hands,
So toughened by the working world
They were large and soiled,
But they never failed
To hold my little clean hands tightly.
Sometimes,
He’d even fall asleep holding me.
I’d just sit there,
Snuggled into love.
When he’d wake,
He’d squeeze me close to him.
Sometimes,
I’d call out,
“Grandpa…”
Just for that special hug.
Age 16