Here is a piece from the Archives, written by my favorite poet some 22 years ago, that still brings a smile to my face. The fact that the author is due to land here in just a day, bringing his own gifts with him make the work even sweeter.
Grandfather
you and Grandma sweeping through the door
laden with bags of presents,
new clothes (some, I admit, I never wore)
and candy in bulk;
crates of cordials, flats of assorted sweets (these were always eaten).
a ferocious hug that washed me in cologne scent
and sandpapered my face with your rough cheek
(my own unstoppable stubble was still years off).
most clearly, an affection of volcanic intensity.
why?, I wondered, but only briefly.
I was not preoccupied with such questions.
now, we greet each other stubble to stubble.
the candy comes often with a check pressed into my palm
and a conspirator's smile.
my question answered itself long ago.
you are my Grandfather.
I am your Grandson.
there is no why in that.
by Peter M. Ferenczi
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