G'pa

I am from roller-blades, from new Crayola's and Sonic slushies.
I am from the small, green neighborhood behind the church where I smoked my first cigarette.
I am from the cold pansies in the rail-road tie planter by the door, the field behind Suzanne's house.
I am from Christmas at Grandpa's and perseverance, from Arthur and Evelyn and Trudy the Beagle.
I am from the reserved and loving.

From "How will anyone think of you as on top of the world if you don't think you are?" and "Why would you do this to yourself?"
I am from Presbyterian hymns. From questioning my faith and coming up with the wrong answer.
I'm from Green country, Scotland, Norway. Lefsa and chicken nuggets.

From the back office in my Grandpa's home, he would patiently play "Wheel of Fortune," on MS-DOS. He would laugh as I stood next to the computer when the monitor read "Please Stand By," the giant watermelon, red tomatoes, and the games of monopoly after dinner with Grandma.
I am from boxes under beds, metal frames on shelves, warm hearts, and orange ladles. I am from my Grandpa's patio and I want more than anything to see him again. To be five on his patio again. Sometimes I don't know if I want to go to Heaven to meet Jesus or just see my Grandpa again. I still love you.