I’m sorry about the length of this poem but thinking of the grandchildren is always a consuming task. We live a distance from the two grandchildren out west in Colorado and therefore, being that they are only three years old, the task at hand, for both of us….grandma and me and them….is a nurturing, confidence-gaining…..and on-going process of….love. Hence……Pinky Poo. Thanks for dropping by.
She hides when she hears me coming down
the noisy staircase with its squeaky sound,
and I hear her giggle from her hiding place
and I pretend to look…. with puzzled face.
Where is my granddaughter, Zoe ella?
I bet she’s dressed like Cinderella.
Or maybe Snow White in a dress that’s blue
Come on, Zoe….now where are you?
In her toy room, in a dress of pink
she hides beside her kitchen sink
and jumps up screaming…. in high voice pitch
when I enter the room and hit the switch
that makes the darkness turn to…. day
and she freezes up when I’m ready to play
and heads for the living room and jumps on the couch
and I go to the comfort chair and pretend to slouch
With head in hands I feign a cry
as she hurries over and asks me why
as she tugs at my hands to see my face
and I ask for a hug but I get no grace.
She’s happy-go-lucky and running on high
in a teasing mood not poised to cry
and I ask her the girl’s name on her dress
and she probably knows, but won’t confess
and acting goofy she hollers ‘poo’
and I say ‘you’re funny’ and she moves close to
hugging me but refrains….pulling back….
and nothing’s changed….in her attack
still unsure of grandpa’s ways
wanting to, but still she strays
from getting close up on the chair
and at a distance….she shakes her hair
and I holler at her…’Pinky Poo’
and she looks up sternly wondering who
I’m talking with….saying ‘that’s not me’
and I hide my face so she can’t see
and again I ‘cry’…”where’s my Pinky Poo?”
and she brings a stuffed friend, soft and blue
and climbs so quietly upon my lap
and whispers softly against my cap
I pretend to whimper in child’s play
‘this is Toby and he likes you, too’
and ‘neath my hands I steal a view
of her pretty eyes in a moment true
before tickling her saying “Pinky Poo”
and she jumps off running in screaming joy
and back to her room for another toy.
We live quite far and she’s only three
but her trust is growing….in who I be
and time will turn these moments….true
and make them memories….like ‘Pinky Poo.’
copyright 2012 t.j. gargano