Edmund Siejka Poet Narrative

To My Grandson Rowan, Nine Years Old

To My Grandson Rowan, Nine Years Old

            by Edmund Siejka

We walk side by side 
Not saying much 
You are tall for your age
But when you speak 
I still lean to my right 
To listen to your soft voice
And then we walk some more
When suddenly
You say,
“Gramps, you don’t have to hold my hand 
I know the way.”
That you do Rowan
That you do. 

When you were born
Your mother’s hospital room was a bit crowded
Nurses coming in
To check in on her
The Doctor standing with his arms crossed
And all of us huddled in a corner
Exhausted and afraid.

The Doctor said you were premature
When your father placed you in my arms
I was afraid of your smallness
And how unbelievably thin you were
Secretly I worried that some how
It was all my fault.

And then at six months
You crawled into a sun filled room
Sitting up 
Reaching 
As high as you could
Catching sunbeams 
Dancing in the air.

And then there was that day
Don’t you remember?
When you drew shapes and figures
Colorful stories to the world
Your hair tousled like Einstein’s 
And we marveled at your creativity.

Now you’ve grown so much
That I’m afraid if I blink
Your mother will tell me
That you started shaving
Not much she’ll say
Just some 
Fine thin hairs 
Or what was called in the day ’peach fuzz’. 

And then wasn’t it just yesterday when
I sat between you and your brother at dinner
Passing plates, talking and laughing
Until outside,
Beyond our reach,
A black canvas sky
Descended
And then you realized
It was time for all nine year olds to go to bed.

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