You rise thick as fog and I knew
nothing of that secret you held in your hand.
My father said it was a tin cup
but I have my doubts about its origins.
Once during harvest time
when the room smelt crisp with apples
and it was time for me to say goodbye.
I, full of the most childish aplomb, lept
to your cheek for a kiss. A smile
overtook your face as red came
to mine for the act which I realized
I had never attempted before,
a kiss for you, my grandfather.
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