|Illustration by J. C. Leyendecker|
no words can describe
the wonders of a mother
but hugs do nicely
The Old Garage By My Grandfather’s House, Revisited
The old garage by my grandfather’s house
had been chained; locked up for years, since he died.
When I was young, I used to play in there.
My memories from then are of strains of Strauss
and his old blue Buick. Also inside
were buckets of paint. A thousand, I’d swear.
Each bucket represented a spectrum
of hues which complimented Strauss’ airs.
I’d bang on those paint-splashed lids with lead tools,
pretending they were made of electrum*.
My grandfather’d smile, as if answered prayers
were Buicks, noisy kids and paint cans jewels.
I turn the key, open the doors…and stare:
a thousand paint cans are still sitting there.
(*Electrum is an alloy of the precious metals gold and silver.)