Grandfathers drawing

A black and white charcoal drawing, my grandfather drew

A child so stoic, with eyes aged by quiet indignities

Though shamefaced I saw it, I knew it had truth

I loathed the expression, depiction, and all of its veracity

A pile of ashes, my grandfathers’ slough

Was all I could see, in this deadening hand-crafted picture of me

Now with eyes still sore, but younger than then

I see the child, meek, but not with mortification, or grief

I see the little face that holds the truth of the past

A child with infinite potentialities

Who taught such a lesson, as that