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.