Waiting

We would sit on the bench until the train came,

you and I, pennies in hand.

And as the train whistles approached from afar,

we laid the pennies upon the tracks together.

What a wonder-struck child I was as the steel beast roared by!

Heaving and whistling and churning, it went, and by its weight,

pennies became pancakes, glistening like fire in the sun.

We would then collect our shared bounty.

My treasure was copper, while yours was laughter.

Much the same laughter you had when the wind

and my inexperience tangled my kite in the old crab apple tree.

For me, it was devastating.

The string’s entanglements

and the kite shredding into useless pieces

left my young mind in grief.

But your same laughter was there too,

though perhaps with a bit of tenderness,

for I was a child, after all.

Then when I was nearly ten,

you died.

I never forgot your funeral.

Many moments I kept expecting you to sit up,

smile, and laugh at me for being such a silly child.

“Why cry? I’m right here,” you’d say.

But you never comforted me that day.

I remember how brightly the sun shone

and the smell of roses and peace lilies.

Years have passed,

but I still smile when I hear the train coming.

Grandpa, I have been waiting on the bench

for a long time.

Time has aged my eyes

and granted me more wisdom.

Now I see what true treasure is,

and I would give all those pennies back

to hear you laugh again.