by Laura Plummer

I watched my grandpa in his gentle way
Perform his poses on the dewy lawn,
Observing how his arms would move and sway,
With face upturned to greet the golden dawn.

His yellow robe shone brighter than the sun.
His incandescent smile warmed my heart.
Our inside jokes and days of silly fun
Sustained me in the years we spent apart.

They took him in the middle of the night.
Some angry soldiers dragged him from his bed.
For years we said a prayer by lantern light,
Not knowing if he was alive or dead.

Until one day he shuffled through the gate,
His sunken cheeks as pale as dumpling dough,
His forehead bowed as if by unseen weight.
Who was this broken man? We didn’t know.

I sometimes tell him jokes we shared before,
But Grandpa doesn’t smile anymore.

* * *

 

Recognized as an Honorable Mention in FoFG’s 2024 Poetry Contest