Building in the workshop, slowly fixing a little girl
who looked up to this extraordinary man who loved her so much
Even without the same bloodline in their veins, she chose him out of seven.
He didn’t seem as though he was disappointed or ashamed of her.
He just loved to see her happy, while building toys and rabbit traps.
Loved seeing her smile as he taught her how to use the saw
and cut through her family’s civil war
And hammer the nails, called bad feelings down into her mood board,
Knock, Knock, Knock, Slam
Sitting on the porch with a not as little girl at his side,
Watching the birds, and the deer, and the grass.
He sees the inner bickering, in the girls head.
She had figured out that she was broken,
She just wanted to be fixed.
He wanted her to know
That walking on old broken glass from the once clear window
Will only cut you more and make you bleed harder.
So he handed her the mood board
And started to read aloud charlotte's web,
As the little taps began.
Knock, Knock, Knock, Slam.
Laying, cold as a corpse in his hospital bed,
She never saw it but it’s was she went through her head
As her mother, one morning, deadpanned that Bob was dead.
My favorite grandparent had died
For months on end, the moderately grownup girl couldn’t get it outta her head,
That she refused to look at him the last time that she could
Because she was afraid that he was empty, that he was different,
That the purely good man was slipping out.
She hadn’t been with him when he finally needed her help.
So she cried when no one was looking and missed so bad.
Broke down in the places she felt the least broken.
She went to her first funeral as the only child there.
Her mood board has one spot left,
She’d been saving for the day that lung cancer won
So she pounded out one more
Knock, Knock, Knock, SLAM.
