Prairie Poetry   

I'm looking for a man
That will remind me of my grandfather.
I want to reveal tenacity
To desire devotion

I remember the pale brown chair
I would sneak to the kitchen early,
Just to sit on that chair before him.

I sat and I waited until he awoke.
No one could have breakfast without him,
He was the first to hold a fork.

When he was dying he could not hold it anymore
I fed him slowly, patiently.

I cried and I smiled at the same time.

He did not let anybody hold his fork
Only my hands felt that bond we had.
He died before midnight.

He told me,
It was time.

And I sat on our favorite chair for hours
Waiting for him to wake up.
He never did, of course,

And then
I covered it in fur to protect it.

  Inga Bukharova
  Copyright © 2006 Inga Bukharova
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