Scrape me off till I'm just bone, no muscles left to ache. Leave me limp on somewhere soft and in the sun to bake. Pop my joints, let nothing stick to aggravate or scorn. And when I'm done resting in peace, put me back once more.
Scrape Me Off
Tag: death
Grandpa
You have my summers, My pre-school years, And all the baby moments Still trapped behind ears. Broad fingers giving illusions That your hands are big, Fit for holding A baby. You say I was one Once. An angel. Hands to hold an angel. But I came in to hug you Now, then, not long at … Continue reading Grandpa
Author T.S. Lowe 