Self-Portrait

" My Great-Grandfather, the man who listened"

The smell of salt spray; the texture of the soft sand

the excitement of searching for who knows what in the rocks that meant so much back then.
I could have stayed there all day.
And so could’ve he.
But as the lazy sun drifted downhill we would make our way up-
Up those long stairs that we all knew so well.
And I would talk about this and that and he would listen with a patience not many understood.
To my young, always searching eyes, he was the silent pinnacle of the family for one moment and a comedic genius the next.
For him the baseball game was always on and the tea was always hot – sneaking cookies on sly because he knew he could.
Doing all those small things that my mother inherited and that I will pass on to my children

a tickle that made you jump

questions about my “new boyfriend” that always made me blush.
But there is one smell – a mixture of salt and sand, tea and ginger snaps,

that little TV room upstairs on West St., sunscreen

kindness and love that was my Grandfather who listened.

- Taylor Murphy