Any Color’s All Right As Long As It’s Blue (for Gene)

Grandpa wore badge number
thirteen when he donned his
fireman gear in the
Blue bedroom where his two
grandchildren slept over.

Once I woke and he kissed my forehead.

He hunted abalone and
dug clams in the
Blue surf. Grandma cleaned
fresh caught fish and just shot
ducks he brought home.
He stirred the food
together on his plate.

He said it all ends up in the same place.

He smelled of
Parliaments, the ones in the
Blue pack. So did the
Green Giant doll he gave me.
We watched football on Sunday
afternoons. His large hands
rubbed my back in one stroke.

I knew I was loved.

My brother just turned nine.
I was old at ten. Grandpa was
only seventy when I wept
Blue tears.

© Hilary Clark ~ 7/17/15
See the quilt here.