Grandpa used to let you
ride on the tractor
mowing down the grasses
by the lake and
when you were done
Mrs. Johnson, next door,
would bring out
cookies and lemonade.
We’d ride the pontoon boat
sitting in lawn chairs,
and you’d steer us around
carefully traversing
the channels between
the lakes, sitting in
evening’s cool, gently
rocking the porch swing,
we’d watch hummingbirds
drink ruby nectar
Grandpa taught us
about Larks and Cardinals,
Blues Jays and Chickadees
and sang his old
Vaudeville tunes
There was always sun-made
iced tea and homemade pies
fresh corn and dairy
from the farmer down the road
and lazy evening strolls
Everyone waved and
knew each other well
we slept with the doors
wide open for air
and one night late
a crazy bat flew into
the sliding glass door
knocked himself senseless
we closed the door afterwards
we wrote letters home
to parents who anxiously waited
our return and carefully
wrote each of us back
wanting to go, wanting to stay,
we’d return every summer
until the year that grandpa died
Good-byes are always
hard and any way
you look at it
there is always one.


One thought on “Good-byes

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