Midnight Poetry
It is my belief that good poetry is not written past midnight. Here is my proof. Still, if you're not sleeping...
(Missing)
My Grandfather has been gone for forty years.
He didn’t attend my graduations,
and wasn’t at my wedding.
He never met my wife or any of my four children.
We never got to say goodbye.
But sometimes, when I’m struggling,
and desperately need advice,
…he is still missing.
My family tells his stories,
and re-tells stories of him –
laughing while he fell out of the boat,
accidentally winning an auction,
buying horses from the Sunday paper.
He was a kind, warm-hearted,
hard-working soul
with a generous smile.
And always carried
a small, ivory-handled pocketknife.
Only the knife remains – silent in a dark drawer…
like the memory of who he used to be.
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