To the grandfather I never met

My mother is my favourite person / and you are hers / and so I would like to think we would have gotten along / I like to think you would have taken me upon your knee when I was small / Told me that you see yourself in me / would have brushed solid fingers gently through my tangled curls / told me that I am a spitting image of my mother / told me tales of what her voice sounded like before she trained her words to land oh so softly / if she too had growing pains so bad that she prayed to God to let her stay little forever / I wonder if you know the great deal of energy she has expended trying not to become her mother / I wonder if you would be more successful than I have been in convincing her that her fear is unfounded / My grandmother is all sharp edges / while my mother is the softest, safest place I have ever known / I work backwards to fit you in like a missing piece of the equation / I would ask you why you had to leave / If you have any advice for those of us who inherited your incompatible heart / too soft for its own overzealous pounding / but it is almost autumn / the air is crisp and the leaves turn colour and fall away / a favourite season three generations strong / and while I understand that sometimes the old has to give way to the new / I also know you can miss something you never had /

Meaghan is a young poet from the small town of Belle River, Ontario who has since made her home in Ottawa. When she’s not personifying everyday items, you may find her sharing a bottle of wine with a loved one or cuddled up with her two cats, Oscar and Gilbert. You can follow her poetry journey on instagram @m_squire_poetry.