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POEM: grandpa’s hands

grandpa’s hands

I have your feathery hair
“grandpa’s hands,” I thought, looking at mine
but we’re not related, are we?
that was one hell of a secret to take to the grave
we told you we were naming our first son after you
you said, “Don’t saddle him with that name”
I assumed you meant it was outdated
now I wonder
it doesn’t change the time we had together
or how much I miss you
but others had already chopped down
most of my family tree
now the little that was left
is engulfed by fog

/ / /

30 April 2021
Farmington NY
for Bernie Flanders

Published in Family My poems NaPoWriMo2021 Poetry


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