Breakfast with Grandpa by lee 이 therese
in loving memory of my Grandpa, Jack


I emerge from the bedroom
		I am seven years old again
allow my eyes to adjust to the light,
the sun dancing through the curtains.
I step lightly,
mind the creaking of the floors,
make my way through the cool hallway,
arrive in the kitchen
& there he is.
It’s anytime between 4 & 6AM.
Grandpa sits at the table by the window
a mug of coffee by his side,
the steam rises
fogs over his glasses.
He wears what he usually does;
a plain colored shirt
this one white
denim overalls
& a plaid flannel over it all.
As I watch him sit there
drinking his coffee
looking at the birds through the window
looking exactly the same as he did the day before
I can’t help but think
“there he is,
as if he never went to sleep.”
I walk over & make myself known.
Grandpa greets me as always
“Morning sweetheart.”
His voice rumbles
it reminds me of the crunching of gravel
& soft thunder.
He helps me get a bowl
pour in my cereal
no milk, I ate my cereal dry back then
grab a spoon
& now we both sit at the table.
I swing my feet,
too short to touch the floor
& munch on my cereal
& he drinks his coffee.
I mumble a random thought every now & then
as kids are want to do.
I could never stand silences for long,
I still can’t, but I am learning.
Grandpa dutifully answers back
our voices soft so we don’t wake the others.
We mostly sit in silence
the cold air slowly being cleared away by the furnace
& watch the world outside move
or not move.
We sit
& the morning is good
& he is there
& I am seven years old
& the world is good.