Grandpa

When I look at your face I see engraved a thousand tiny lines
I see browned skin, cracked lips, eyes that rise
To meet mine and are the deep brown of a tiger stripe
And I see the deep black pupils hiding the soul I can't even
imagine.

When I look at your hands I see fingers that used to rise
To lift the tools and the brush alike, to make a stripe
Against the blank canvas and I see hands that bring what you
imagine
To life and, with wood and ink and lead, created lines

When I look at your feet I see the white stripe
Where the sandal strap lays, and I imagine
The pain of feet that burn inside, lines
Of fire that abate only when you rise

When I look at you I catch sight of what you must imagine
In your broad shoulders rest the world, the straight line
Of you is the simple strength that gives rise
To creation, contained within a single stripe.