Mein Opa

My Grandpa got mad with me once

I wanted to fly Kites with him

That’s not why he was mad

Through some extenuating circumstances

He spoke German and I did not

I let him down by never learning

We could only speak the language of

Blood and bone and heart

This language of heritage Knows little of the intricacies of kites

He couldn’t understand his grandson

His Grandson could not understand him

How could he not be mad

His heart was as big as a house

He Wept every time he saw his family

And the unintelligible syllables

Pouring from his mouth

Were the warmest syllables

I would ever hear.

As a token of my gratitude

I would present my own tears in turn

The language of blood

Understands tears all too well

I’ll never know the wisdom he held

He’ll never know of my works or deeds

I don’t know much about my Opa

But I know I love him

And He loved me.