Sunday, June 13


today, i am feeling a little weary. tired, you know.
i've been thinking of my grandpa. it gives me strength.

i remember sitting at the table with him one summer morning.
the house was still and i was listless, moving my food around the plate with my fork.
his unshaven face hidden behind the post and reading glasses.
i squinted my eyes and thought to myself: my grandfather is a clever old fox.
he looked up from his reading and saw me ignoring my breakfast. he raised one eyebrow.
thats all it took. thats all it ever took.
he never raised his voice, never uttered a harsh word.
he simply raises one eyebrow and it puts you in line.
he set down the paper and began to recite by heart the words of ee cummings.

i am so glad and very
merely my fourth will cure
the laziest self of weary
the hugest sea of shore

so far your nearness reaches
a lucky fifth of you
turns people into eachs
and cowards into grow

our can'ts were born to happen
our mosts have died in more
our twentieth will open
wide a wide open door

we are so both and oneful
night cannot be so sky
sky cannot be so sunful
i am through you so i

and with that, he smiled, took a sip of his orange juice and began again with his paper.

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