He stands still on the copper red stairs,
watching
my aunts and uncles,
his sons and daughters.

He stands in his pastel blue and grey suit,
eyes packed with pride,
leaving no regrets behind.

He stands and takes it all in—
the pool,
the motel,
and the street he’s lived on
for forty-five years.

He stands surveying
his big white house,
not caring about his possessions
but cherishing the memories he’s afraid he’ll lose.

All he can do is stand.
This is everything I have to hold onto—
one image,
from the time
I was a toddler
of the granddad

I never want to forget.