I can still feel his eyes on me—
I somehow knew even before I cracked my eyes a small bit.
I knew he was watching me intently.
Drowsy, but now awake,
Pretending to be asleep,
I barely opened my lids and saw him—
Staring at me contemplatively.
As a child, when my grandfather studied me while I slept on the sofas in their hot living room,
An un-air-conditioned room in Florida with just a fan blowing,
His long-lasting gaze at both my sister and me made me wonder,
What is so interesting about us when we are asleep?
Why watch us?
I now know why.
He loved.
He loved me.
He loved me enough to be enchanted by my breaths,
By my face,
By my fingers and hands,
By my curled figure,
To be mesmerized by my innocence and potential,
By my blond hair splayed on the pillow,
By my stillness.
I was his blood.
I was the daughter of his daughter.
The apple of his eye.
If what they say is true,
If eyes are the windows to the soul,
His soul was awakened by me—the center of his soul.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Decades after he left this earth,
I still feel his gaze,
His love.
Grandpa’s presence was beside me
when I gazed at my sons’ faces,
As I sat in the chair beside the crib,
Listening to their deep breathing,
now knowing why he gazed.
I hope my sons know beyond a shadow of a doubt
Even decades later that
I was enchanted by their breaths,
By their faces,
By their fingers and hands,
By their curled figures.
I was mesmerized by their innocence and potential,
By their blond hair splayed on the pillow,
By their stillness.
They were my blood—
The sons I longed for,
The reason my blood thumped in my body,
My essence.
Rocking back and forth,
I felt their heaviness on my chest,
As I grasped their tiny fingers in my hand,
As I tried to comfort their fears and remove tears,
As I held them and sang in the darkness,
Reminding them I was there—-
I wanted them to know they were the center of my soul.
Oh, to be loved like this.
To be the enchantment of someone’s soul,
To be loved so much that decades later there are no doubts.
