Grandpa Gilpin's Chair

Grandpa Gilpin’s Chair

I grasp the arms

of the sturdy old chair,

remember your stories of him,

how he sat there by the window

of the house in Enfield.

He would read to you

from the Springfield paper

that arrived on the train,

report the feats of Walter Johnson

and the Washington Senators.

A practiced weaver,

he interlaced stories

of the mother who taught him to read,

the child lost in the well,

the loom in their house in Armagh.

I know him only

through your stories

and this chair 

whose solid frame invites me now 

to sit awhile and remember.