Grandpa by Ashley Yashar

Up the stairs,
all I can hear is laughter,
his body bouncing in his suit.
His freshly showered hair combed back,
aftershave identifying only him,
his voice slipping from the creeks.
I climb up.
His laughter getting louder,
I hold onto the handle,
the smell of his cologne getting stronger.
The door opens.
I stand there,
Waiting for the embrace of his arms,
But it’s silent.
I hear nothing.
I see nothing.
He’s gone.