Grandpa

It's been a year. I had a dream the other night. Grandpa and I were sitting together, talking. He got up and started to walk away and I said "I'll see you again, won't I?" He turned and said "Death is forever, kiddo." I woke up and wrote this freeform poem.

Death is forever, kiddo, he said.
I'd just said I'll see you again, won't I?
And that was his response.
I remembered the creases around his eyes
His unsteadiness, the limp.
How much he needed us.
I didn't realize
That I needed him too.
And I wanted him to be there
Alive, when this dream ended.
I didn't want to have to ask
It was warm, comfortable, womblike.
No sadness, no sense of time fleeing.
Just him and I
Skipping generations to commune
As we tried to do in living time.
It had been a year since I saw him
And I wanted very much to keep
But he turned back as he walked away
Dashed my hopes with a crinkle of his eyes
Because Death is forever.