Papa

My grandfather likes hot chocolate

His skin is as dark as night

He believes in big breakfasts

With half a grapefruit for good measure

And taking your hat off at the dinner table

And checking in on your

nieces and nephews

He is a good Baptist man

A church deacon

An Alpha man

A college football star

A ladies’ man

With perfectly curly 3c hair

Who had young women

Write in his yearbook

That they’ll miss him over the summer

He pronounces “shit”

Like “shhheeeeeeiiiitttttt”

And only on the rare occasion

When there’s nothing left to say

He is my ancestor now

Who I only get to visit

At my altar

And in my dreams

But he remains in the present tense

A formidable presence

With the most tender of hearts

I still have his old sweater

And it fits me

Just like a hug