Great Grandfather ©
by Stacey Johnson

My Great Grandfather that I never knew,

I can picture you

Sitting on the steps of the old white house

Staring at the trees and the barn across the road,

Thinking of things in the past

With your head propped on your soft wrinkled hands,

With the knife and your whittling stick lying beside you

Behind you the screen door slams

As the kids come running out

The noise of the creaking swing

Blows in the wind

Harmonizing with the sound of Grandmother’s snapping beans.

Peace and calmness reign,

Until

The noise of the

Shouting children interrupts.