February 9, 2008

Lift

Up on those shoulders. Over that soft tummy, the gray-haired chest slopping in.
Sitting up there, hands clutched together in clumps of see-through white.

He walks you around the edge of the lake. It feel so light up there on those shoulders,
Falling would just mean floating, then landing, then hopping back up.
And a rare smile from grandpa at the sight of the bouncing boy.

But you can't see that smile parked up on there on his shoulders.
You can't see his face, in fact.
You're looking forward, you're breathing in his cherry tobacco hum.

You're grandpa's face today. He's got a happy five-year-old's face.
You're giving that to him.
He's giving you lift.

Category: Book o' Verse | Subscribe to Cecil or About-Creativity | Permalink | Digg this post
What do you think?

Lovely.

Posted by: Vanessa at February 11, 2008 8:14 PM

Nice to see the poetry back

Posted by: h imp at February 12, 2008 5:37 PM

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