Popcorn Tears

Gramps
quiet strength
calm patience
green hornet's
driving lessons
historic westerns
cherry trees
baseball games
yellowed cushions
he knew my scores and was always up on the records
he laughed at all of my jokes

Gramps
popcorn tears and oatmeal laughter

the last thing I have of him is gone.

Don't ask me why I cry.
Answers tend to confuse the memories
explained.
So quick to judge the intention of a tear.
So quick to disregard other's sorrow.
Why can't you just look at me, listen to my story and leave your judgment outside.
All I need right now is a friend.
Understand when you come upstairs and
find me sobbing over a bowl of popcorn, it isn't
the bowl.
the freshly made corn.
the butter loaded to
mask the burnt taste.

Look at that popper.
Useless piece of crap.

Why is it that I chose an appliance to hold my memories?

Gramps
Twenty years ago
would have oatmeal for breakfast and popcorn after dinner.
Every morning and every
night.
In between he would be outside working
or inside
in the living room
reading,
far away
from Grandma.
Growing up I began to understand
their love
understated for each other
a convenience
or a duty
but for
ME
unconditional
all that is right with the world
showed me so much
homemade root beer
ripe raspberries
digging brought magic in potatoes
hockey players appreciate unwavering devotion
the pleasures of roses and lilacs.
Gramps died.
He legacy was twofold ...
unforgettable memories
of a quiet man's genuine interest in a teenager trying to fit into this difficult world
listening to the seemingly bland stories of my day
AND
that damn popcorn popper.
Every time I used it, I felt him
sitting there
watching me instead of his Louis L'Amour
waiting
for me to share the moment
with him.

So don't judge my popcorn tears.
Just comprehend
why
the hot air
tastes
so much
better.