Granddaughter

She is beautiful
and so very sad
Filled with insight
that I never had
in my preteen years
She followed
me upstairs
to show me her room
and once there
shared with me
so many doubts
so many fears
so much of her life
that was so unclear
in her mind
and in her sweet
brown eyes I
could see the pain
This young girl
grappling with
growing up
Hoping for answers
that I didn’t have
but I gave her
what I had
All of my attention
All of my love

So . . .

I don’t write all that much
due to long intervals of
not giving a fuck
and liquorice black
depression that creeps up –
or maybe not up but in,
or maybe it just sinks
down around me like a
cloud without wind
But there’s profit
to be had from
sadness, a spendable
commodity in poetry
where joy doesn’t
pay as well
as trips
across hell
and see? It
carried me
through this poem
and that’s swell