The croaking of the stairs

Woke me up,

Told me you were awake.

I bounced in your lap,

All giggles and smiles

As you flipped through

Black and white pages.

We bet on the horses,

Laughed at the sports

But maneuvering the numbers

Was always my favorite.

Fitting three and five

Into nine little boxes.

You grew weary of my excitement

And sent me off to play.

But I lingered

Sat and stared at the numbers

Only wanting you to be proud.

Years passed and

The numbers got boring.

I played with letters

On electronic buttons instead.

I would try, every so often,

On those days with you

That were becoming less and less.

Then you no longer came

Down the stairs in the morn

You no longer cut out

Your favorite articles.

I flipped through the paper

One last time

Finishing my latest puzzle

In which rests with you still.

You are the face in the paper now

I sulk in your chair as I reminisce

At the head of the table, alone.

I struggle to smile,

I struggle to laugh.

Yet those numbers with which I play

A different pattern each day

For you,

Who taught me well.