Estes

There was a time when it was strange to consider that my grandfather one day would be dead,
As he has been now these 15 years,
Though it seems like only yesterday that

I followed him into the garage of his country home,
Where he taught me to fill the gasoline tank of a riding lawn mower
As kittens purred in cardboard boxes in the rafters above our heads.

Another time I stood behind him in the cow pasture as he stared down a coal-black steer
That challenged us with stamping hoof.
Aaaaaaghh! he warned the neutered bull, with fear in his septuagenarian voice.

Denim blue bib overalls.
Pioneer pretzeled ball cap.
Wide smile, two tooth-rows full.

It is his smile I see in you.

I wonder how distant more distant memories seem now to my father, my uncle, my aunts,
And I wonder how distant memories of them will seem to me
When my children are old enough to write poems.

Do they know how far their memories will reach?
Do you, who I love,
Know him, who I love?

If you know me, you know him, I think.
And he would love you, too.
As I do.