FORK
Rust had set in, wobbled the cross handle
you held the dig back from fear of breakage,
just teasing the sun dried earth.
A foot push hip heave, snap!
Release of time as the handle gave way,
I stood with his fingerprints.
One of the last things your granddad gripped
with strength. it\'s time to let go move on,
but it never feels that easy.
Instead you\'re thinking of him, in hot weather
breaking his back to find war torn food.