Meet and Greet

He rides the rails through farmland dusk,
his coat smells faint, leather and musk.
by the window, hands folded tight,
the train wheels hum through fading light.

A photo slips within his coat,
sweet baby girl, a frilly note:
“Grandpa, I’ll see you soon,” it read,
as guilt stirred deep, regrets soon led.

Strong women that he left behind,
silence sharper than words unkind.
The wife who waited, eyes gone gray,
while he chased dreams that slipped away.

He folds it gently, eyes grown wet,
there’s too much now he can’t forget.
Kind hearts he held so soft and true,
he offered storms they never knew.

A mother once with calloused hands,
who held him up like iron stands.
He never cared to treat her right.
just left one day, slipped into night.

Beautiful wife, carried his name,
then bore far more and took the blame.
He broke her trust in quiet ways,
too blind to notice hollow days.

His daughter, too, with guarded grace,
a stranger’s strength behind her face.
He missed recitals and her tears.
neglected her for all those years.

But here he is, with trembling palms,
in worn out shoes, still acting calm.
He carries with him more than weight,
he hopes and prays he’s not too late.

Yet right on time for one small soul,
a girl who might help hearts feel whole,
he’ll kneel when first he sees her there,
gray cap of hair helps hide his care.

And whisper soft, a small prayer,
“I’m better now, fully aware.”
“Little one, I will learn anew,
how to love, and be good to you.”

– Grace Y. Estevez – Reddy