Numerology
He’s counting his fingers
now,
another threshold passed
without a look back.
He puts some energy into it,
doesn’t remember to count
every one every time,
but he’s counting, he’s doing
it.
Old Grandfather starts it
off,
tapping fingertips, “One,
two, three…”
and he picks up the rhythm,
splaying the fingers of one
hand,
fearlessly extending the
count, “…four, five, seven, eight.…”
A couple of those eager
fingers get counted twice,
sticking up like chicks in
the nest stretching for the worm,
and that’s alright, those
fingers are stretching
for the joy of discovery and
the cool of flashing in the air
in the ritual of counting
fingers with Old Grandfather,
and counting twice is
confirmation, not a sin.
We do it again.
Same noisy delight. Different
count.
Someday he’ll understand that
doing it together is what counts.
Richard Carl Subber
(Rick) is a freelance
editor, a writing coach and a historian. He lives with his family in Natick,
Massachusetts, USA. He’s a former newspaper reporter/editor who now indulges
his love of the right words. Rick is a
proud grandpa who is teaching his granddaughter to read and write, in case
there is poetry in her future. His
poetry appears in The Australia Times
Poetry Magazine, miller’s pond poetry
magazine, The RavensPerch, Northern Stars, and elsewhere. His blog: http://barleyliterate.blogspot.com/
Love that ending and the poem's casual style
ReplyDeleteWise words. Nice poem.
ReplyDeleteRichard, you don't know how much your poem takes me back to times with my grandfather. Such pleasant memories. Thank you for this. Continued blessings to you and yours!
ReplyDelete-MJ (www.tgbtgpublictions.com)
Great ending, warm poem! Thank you!
ReplyDeleteWonderful. Enjoyed your piece very much. A joy. Ralph
ReplyDeleteMany thanks to all, we learn so much from each other here
ReplyDelete