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Dear Grandpa

How are you doing up there,

Where you undoubtedly are

Since you never missed

A day of Prayer.


Down on this hard,

Unforgiving ground

We are having a hard time.

The hours in the car were

Unbearable and the

Funeral wasn’t much better

As long-forgotten relative

Exchanged saturated words,

Everybody pretending they

Weren’t sneaking glances

Your way.


And how rude of you,

The guest of honor,

To not speak a word the entire time.

You even made Grandma cry

With your unwavering silence

And still limbs;

A possum playing dead

Before a Wolf.


The handkerchief you made her

With love in your traitorous heart

Now is ruined,

But you shouldn’t worry;

I don’t think she will ever throw it away.


I forgive you for all of this

Because I know you didn’t

Mean to hurt us.

It just happened

When you sat down on those steps

 And forgot how to get back up.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this poem when I was eleven after my Grandfather died painlessly from a heart attack. My mother had gotten the call while we were all in the theaters watching a movie- Race to Witch Mountain- during the middle of spring break. She listened to the recorded message on the way home and my father had to tell us what happened. We spent a total of twenty four hours travelling in a car to attend a somber service and comfort my Grandmother on Easter Sunday. I am now much older and the pain has dulled; yet, this poem always gives me a hand when I feel the need to cry.

This is a chronical of the refurbished musings of an elementary schooler first discovering the meaning of death.

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last updated 13 March 2015 - 11:13pm
©13 March 2015 - 11:09pm — Serenity103
17 March 2017 - 11:12am — allets
allets's picture

Well Written Images

To varying degrees, many funerals are similar. I like the word "traitorous" betraying the living by dying. The kerchief was a nice touch. - I know you miss him. ~allets~