Grand pa pa

When I am tired and ready to give in

I think back to the long gravel road

that lead me home to the ranch house

my grandfather would walk ahead of me

in his old jeans and thick boots

carry his shovel in his right hand

to cut the heads off of rattlesnakes

foolish enough to cross our path

a swift life lesson expressed in silence

My grandmother would wait patiently

on the broken white porch

singing with crickets

always watching

something boiling on the stove

I learned to skin those rattlesnakes

at five years old

caught a bull frog for a pet at age six

stood on the mountain alone

chest pounding against brown bears

and hound dogs

small pistol strapped to my belt

borrowed from grand papa

fear was a hill I always lived to conquer

caves scratched with my initials with arrowheads

found in dry riverbeds

spitfire dreams screamed into vast acres of hope

a thick bloodline stretching across continents

and into the endless universe

my feet solid on hollowed ground

life a journey to be patched into

my front pocket

When I am tired

I remember the red thread

that will forever tie me to them

and the lessons they showed me

of how to be free