My smile is wide and innocent,
Focused on my nana behind the camera,
And covered in sticky red sugar.
A popsicle is situated in my left hand
My right resting on my papa’s knee
As he smiles at the top of my head.
His grey sweatshirt is covered in dark paint stains
And so are my hands,
But not my bright pink watermelon jacket.
Together we painted the deck we were now relaxing on,
Red juices running down my chin
And plopping softly on the pavement.
My nana fussed around afterward,
Making sure to wipe my face,
To keep me as clean as possible-
An odd reflex I had learned to accept-
And when she walked away
To grab a new washcloth
Papa leaned down to me and
Grabbed one of my tiny hands
In his large, work-hardened ones.
“You done good.”
I smiled a red-stained smile
That dissolved quickly
When I saw my mom’s car.
I always spent Friday nights away from home.
“Not tonight.”
Was all she said, her words cropped and short,
And dragged me away
As papa called good-bye,
Trying not to expose his sadness.
I don’t know when I finally realized
Or maybe I always knew, inherently,
That my grandparents were always better parents.
eating popsicles with my grandpa on the porch of their old house. he's wearing an old grey sweatshirt i'm wearing my favorite watermelon jacket i'm four or five face sick from popsicle i'm looking at camera, smiling papa is looking at me we painted the deck together nana hated my messy face and mom came to get me later even though it was a friday and i always spent fridays at my grandparents she was mean about it and made me go with her even though i didn't understand why i couldn't stay.
ReplyDeleteWow -- this is a powerful poem! This was my favorite line -- Papa leaned down to me and Grabbed one of my tiny hands
ReplyDeleteIn his large, work-hardened ones.
“You done good.” I like how you tied it all together at the end too. I was drawn in from beginning to end. Very clear imagery!