my opa lost his wife nine years ago today.
with stooping shoulders he conveys how much he misses her.
hollow-chested, he walks with a limp now.
his once full beard lies across his sunken cheeks
white and wispy, like down.
but his laugh lines are there still,
even when his eyes are sad.
those eyes are dimming; they are watery but deep
the grey-blue of the sea he loved to sail.
they are the color of the atlantic that he conquered.
he is brave. he is very brave still.
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