My Grandpa

My grandpa was as giant as a tree. He was infinitely bigger than me. He would lean down and connect his hands so he could swing me like a swing. Grandpa was a big, giant, tree. My grandpa had dark glasses, And a bunch of dangling keys. I assumed that when you grew up, You just accumulated those kinds of things. My grandpa had 9 fingers, Though I can't remember the missing one. Somehow he lost a finger, just like his brothers, Almost, every, single one. My grandpa was fantastic, In a quiet magical way. I sat with him on the front porch, As we sat together midday. He reached over to the side table, The one right next to me. Picked up a green pear, And held it over his knee Then he twisted the pear stem off, And I sat next to him awestruck As he ate the whole entire Thing, Until absolutely nothing was left. My grandpa was very loving, And very quiet too. His smile was a proud one. It felt steady to have him near you. My grandpa liked to fix things, Or at least it seemed that way. He always tinkered with something, In some particular way. My grandpa had a calculator, With weird scrolling paper rolls, You could type out the numbers, And watch as it scrolled. I played with it often, Had no idea what that was about. He never told me not to touch it, And never made me get out. My grandpa was a gentle being, At least he was to me. My grandpa, was my grandpa. And that's what he'll always be.