My Grandpa Larry was born on November 8, 1918, which would make today his 104th birthday. This summer, as part of my experience with the Colorado Writing Project, I wrote a poem about my grandparents’ home on Clyde Drive in Downer’s Grove, Illinois. I was fortunate enough to spend time there as I grew up. To say I have fond memories of this place is an understatement. Here’s to you, Grandpa.
“Clyde Drive”
Blond brick cut sideways,
nowhere else but here.
Inside there was
cheese,
the good kind,
and salmon
and crackers like butterflies
and my Grandmother’s
jewelry box.
It played “Dancing in the Rain”
and kept her silver a secret.
But I knew.
And there were bird feeders
but never any birds –
squirrels, yes –
my Grandfather would scratch
his forehead and wonder –
where are they?
Hi fi,
the music,
masks on the walls and books on the shelves
and clowns-
but not the scary ones.
Close the chain
before you warm yourself
against the fire.
A back scratch now from your loving hands.
Grandma.
Your deep laughter in chuckles, amused and tender.
Grandpa.
