Empowerment. Engagement. Authenticity.
I Love You, Gramps
I remember sticky Friday afternoons
Eating sponge Kiss-cakes
In the backseat of your car after school:
Dipping my finger
Into the creamy middle
Of each cake,
Savoring every last lick
Then washing it down
With cold Coke
In tiny plastic cups
Just right for small hands:
Yellow for me,
Green for Re.
I remember sitting cross-legged
In your gallery,
The sun hot on my skin
Beneath the cotton
Of my uniform skirt,
As we played Donkey
And Rummy
And laughed when Re lost
Or when I tilted my cards
So that everyone could see.
I remember listening to stories
You’d tell about flying
Over Tobago during
Hurricane Flora
And about the old days
When Daddy was growing up
And you were headmaster.
I remember the birthday-card
You gave me when I turned eleven -
The blue one with the matching
Blue hundred-dollar bill,
I remember you dabbing Wings
Behind my ears,
And putting Bryl Creem
In my hair,
Though it was only for boys.
I remember walking
Down to Chai with you
And how you would boast
About your smart granddaughter:
Me.
You know how many times
I hope and pray
For those good ol’ days?
How many nights
I lie awake cursing
Alzheimer’s for robbing us
Of those shared memories?
But there is no anger
Or hurt or pain
In your grey-black eyes;
There is no blame.
You smile
Your gentle smile
And squeeze my hand.
(c) Kristy Kassie, February 23, 1999
