I was a kid—
that’s what Granddad called me
riding his tractor,
giggling in the breeze,
peaches, sheep—sharp baa.
I held the wheel.
measuring myself
against him.
Years rolled by.
Mom left for Ray in Idaho.
He spoke with his hands—
left her black and blue,
yellowing, stitched brow.
Grandparents caught wind—
came down.
I told him
where Ray lived
while she lay under
in the hospital.
He kept his word:
stormed in,
like Ray through
the restraining order—
pulled a trigger,
one crack echoed,
putting the dog down.
Charges filed—
the jury let him off—
said they’d do the same.
After that,
Mom took to pills—
too proud to quit,
too tired of life.
After college,
love matched Olivia and me.
But Granddad couldn’t handle
her olive skin.
Last I saw him,
he jabbed my chest,
nostrils flared—
disowned me.
I’d never seen him cry,
so I didn’t.
Ten years gone—nothing.
I picked up the phone,
set it down.
One Saturday,
on the balcony,
coffee, obituaries—
didn’t look twice—
it was Granddad
I didn’t cry.
His story: a secret bigot—
family was listed; not me.
I choked up.
Below, a letter to me.
Hey, kid—if you’re reading this,
God called me home.
I was wrong about Olivia,
and you.
You picked the perfect woman.
She’s good to you
and your daughter.
I made up with Olivia years ago
to see your child.
It had nothing to do with her race.
I was afraid you’d be like me.
I put my hands on your grandmother
until I got off the bottle.
For that, I knew you’d never forgive me.
I should have known,
you were nothing like me.
Don’t blame Olivia.
I couldn’t get myself
to apologize.
I left you the farm.
I know you hate me,
but release yourself
of that pain.
Be at peace.
You thought I was a good man,
but I would have given anything to be
like you.
Love,
Me
I sighed,
Olivia’s hug
filled something missing—
she completes me.
I arched a brow.
“That extra cash when business—”
“It was him,” she said, nodding.
“When we fell on hard times, he paid the bills.”
Tears welled. “I should have known.”
I wiped my tears.
“He had the best of intentions,” she said.
I brushed her cheek.
We smiled, finality—
maples shed orange, crimson.
A brisk breeze,
darker earlier than last month,
hope floats,
letter shut.