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He had been gone
For nearly six years,
I'd been gone for seven myself
But finally I made it to his house
Grandfather
His plastic glow-in-the-dark roseries
Still hung reverently
Over the doors
No one had bothered with them
What they had bothered with were
The watches, the rings
The pictures, the antiques
Everything taken to remember him by
All that was left
Due to dust I suppose
Was in the garage

It was here we spent
Eight summers together
Until I was sixteen and drove away
In the old Plymouth that we restored
I looked in the old tool box
His black wrench was still
Right where he had always kept it
I remembered a comic book I used to hide
Under the shelf, near the window
For those times he was too busy to talk
There it was, Superman no. 24 issue.
My favorite, his favorite too
He had once told me
Everything left to remember him by
Due to dust I suppose
Was in the garage

Learn more about this author, Darrell E Phillips.
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