maybe he would have called me princess
or something silly like chocopie
maybe he would have told me stories
about his days, so different than mine
he could have seen my young childish eyes
glisten with wonder, amazement, jaw-dropped awe…
maybe he was a mischievous jokester
he might have slipped taffy when mom didn’t look
maybe he would have told me wise words
to nurture and soothe me through my troublesome adolescence
maybe he would have smoked a pipe
and I would have memories filled with a sweet unique scent of tobacco
and roasted chestnuts
maybe he would have been my favorite person
the doorbell I yearned to hear on thanksgiving day
maybe I would have turned out differently
a part of me could have been him

maybe that’s why I’m jealous of my older sister
she had the chance to meet the man
who only exists in my imagination
she understood how my parents felt when they cried
for I never met my grandpa before he died.