Grandpa by Nathan Blackwater

“Grandpa, I want to help,”

I cry.

“Dig here,” he says.

“Dig a big hole.”

 

“Why,” I say.

“It’s just a hole.”

Silence fell into hole.

As his brown eyes stare.

 

They looked like holes,

Bottomless and serious.

They scare me a little

Like a subterranean pool.

 

“Planting a spruce,”

He finally says.

 “To give us shade

Beside our house.”

 

I’ll never forget

Seeing the tininess

Of the seedling

And asking “How long?”

 

“For your children,”

He says,

Clapping me on the shoulder.

I look at him with dismay.

 

Many years later,

I wonder at the unrestrained

Dream of unfathomable hopes,

Of something that will never be seen.

 

How can he be

Deep-rooted and multi-layered

With his hands in the dirt

And so little in his pockets?

 

Hidden within me

Is the same Native DNA

Caring about Mother Earth

Even when I can’t see.

 

Thank you Grandfather.

Image

Advertisements
Standard

3 thoughts on “Grandpa by Nathan Blackwater

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s