The old man

homage to my grandpa, gone 2 years ago

just as everything is in its place

the cracked pitcher in the cellar’s window

the maize porridge pot amid the verandah flowers

the knife sharpener in the kitchen table’s drawer

the squared clock hung slanting on the wall

 

day after day the old man

takes off the straw hat from its hook even if it’s cloudy

pulls it down on his head with both hands

opens the street gate till it hits the wall

upright like a thistle he looks down the road

 

under the hat colored like an autumn sun

it gets warmer

his face furrows overturn a smile

as if the moist earth sliced by the old times plough

under the steps of sons grandsons and great-grandsons

My grandpa lived to be 87, I made this clip from photos with him: