My Grandfather's Hammond Organ

Another one for today - this one is a very personal poem about my grandfather.  In actuality he was my mother's uncle.  He treated me and my brother like we were his grandsons and both of us miss him dearly.  

My Grandfather's Hammond Organ

by Nathan Taylor

My hands run over those keys,

Covered in dust.

Untouched

For so many years,

Now that he is gone.

The whites, now grey.

The blacks, grey too.

And as I play

My fingers

Take the dust from the keys.

Flipping the toggles,

Changing the sounds.

Trying to find his sound.

Trying to call out to him

In a language he may hear and understand.

Old leather seat

Cracked, torn, smelling of him;

Of cigarettes and beer,

Of aftershave and coffee,

Of all these things…and dust.

I see him.

Foot tapping,

Fingers flying.

This old man

With a smile on his face

Hammering those keys.

Punching like a prize fighter;

Not gentle or loving.

Wrestling them into submission

And getting them to sing.

Sitting where he sat.

Looking at these dusty keys.

Closing my eyes,

Tapping my feet.

Punching, wrestling, struggling.

And I feel him looking on

As I play,

I feel his pride.

I feel his love.

And I miss him more than ever.