His Hands (A Poem of Remembrance)

Photo of My Grandfather

His hands

Told stories

Not in paper

And ink

But in wood

And in canvas.

I have the bookcase

He built in 54

My Mother turned

Three that year

I wasn’t yet

A glimmering in

Her eye.

He made it

With oak

And with love

An eye for detail

A few pieces

Have gone

Missing over

The years

I’ve meant

To replace them

But whose hands

Will form them

With the same passion he

Did?

He built other

Things too

China cabinets

And every cabinet

In the house

They bought in

“66”

The house