Grandpa

The carpet is a white, tan, and shaggy. I run my fingers through it like I am combing my hair.

The sun is shining through the window and the memory is filtered in white.

Sister is there. And so are you, over by the white sofa chair.

We are laughing.

You are on all fours using your arm like an elephant trunk.

We climb on your back, and you raise up halfway like an elephant spraying water at the watering hole.

We all laugh again, as sister and I fall back into the sofa chair.

There is something youthful glistening in your aging eyes as you stare back us with your wide smile.

The moment was innocent and mischievous all at once. Old and young.

But the memory lives on.

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