March 2, 2017

My Grandfather's Chambers

Tonight I find myself wondering about

Wandering through my granddaddy's chambers,

Acutely aware of how worn-down,

Lonely, and weak he must have felt

On that November day when he

Worried that he was slipping,

Falling, failing in ways that he couldn't accept.

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Did he feel the chill of the chamber

As he questioned his caliber?

Did the humiliation provide the hammer,

Or did we look too hard for the trigger?

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At the last minute, did he take stock

Or gauge any potential regret?

Would he have had time to recoil,

Of do we hope too hard he got a grip?

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It is rare that I find myself

Chasing down his shadowy chambers,

But I like to think that was the case

For him most nights too.

Not sure whether that is solace

Or a shocking reminder of how

Only once does the target need to be in sight.