Dragonfly

We collected apples from branches

Under the tree he planted when

I was born. The ones on the ground had

Begun to rot, orange and brown like

The well water rings that stained our sink.

We microwaved lunch: leftover pizza

From grandma’s shift at The Villa.

Aunt Dot called me “Spud,” but

Grandpa had no name for me, only

Visits to the country store for

Swedish Fish and beef jerky from 

A Venango County farm.

I walked to elementary school, its library

My second home until we moved

Away, first to live with

Men my mother loved, then all over

Until Kentucky. Childhood faded and 

We shared some time together before

Engineering Physics at Murray State. Nearly twenty summers passed,

And missed calls went unreturned until

Grandpa gave up on calling.

Before California, we made amends and

I promised to call and send photos, which

He always saw but never learned 

How to text me back. Crashing waves,

Sunsets, redwoods, and USS Palo Alto.

He held my head to his chest when 

I last saw him in a Pittsburgh hospital.

Sometimes, he visits with me 

Under the live oak trees, but in the form

Of a dragonfly.