My Grandpa’s Sister

I was in deep distress for a while,

Worried that I’d forget your face,

The placement of each individual wrinkle, 

The way your mouth moved when you spoke,

The way your eyes squinted when you smiled,

And the sound of your voice telling us all good night.

I have pictures of you, hundreds to be exact.

There’s one of you and I sitting side by side,

Another one of you embracing me in your arms,

And some from your youth, when you first held my dad. 

None of these were a guarantee, though,

That I’d remember every feature of my sweet Grandpa’s. 

But then I sat with her at the family Christmas party,

Your sister, with her hair in a bun and her glasses on,

Sitting on the couch, telling the young ones stories of all sorts,

My mind blurred everything and everyone around me.

All I could see in her visage was you.

The crinkle around her gleaming, brown eyes,

The angularity of her jaw, and the smile she had on,

The frequency of her voice when she told me

Stories from the past and about you,

Her mannerisms and the way she looked at me,

Were the same that’d I’d seen when I looked at you.

For a moment you were right there in front of me,

And I was ever so grateful for your sister for being there,

Reminding me of what it was like when you were still here.