I saw my grandfather today,
He's been dead seven years.
His smell still lingers,
On his old jacket
that hangs in my mother's closet.
Sometimes, I take it
and breathe him in.

His voice, coarse in his
last few fighting days,
used to ring deeply.
I hear him sometimes,
whispers from the air.

I saw my grandfather today.
He was driving,
The same green Nissan
The one my mother now owns.
He had his favorite blue cap on
It hangs in my room,
one in a sea of many
that adorn my
dead-limbed coat hanger.

I saw him,
Same wide starry-eyed grin.
He used to smile like that
when he was racking
up a game of eight-ball
mischievous twinkle in his eye.
Skilled hands
that knew the game
And never lost.

He was there,
same "old spice and everything nice"
scent.
It reminds me of the summers
days winding into hours
I spent them all in the
cool, fan-whipped air
of his game room.
Our sanctuary.

Maybe you know
your own sorrow
when a loved one goes.
Maybe. You know
how memories feel
now that we are hollow
and alone.