Kid Bamboo

Cherrie Woods (aka Cherrie Amour)

My 70-year-old West Indian grandfather

Wore his tailored “shirt jacks” on Sunday afternoons,

Alternating the colors black, gray, navy blue, and brown.

One pocket, two pockets, and four pockets—

Some had fancy embroidery and others none.

All were crisp like a freshly toasted slice of bread.

His pants were brown, blue, or black,

All with two pockets

And ironed with seams as sharp as a razor.

Black or brown polished shoes

With a shine that could light a darkened room

Completed his weekly ensemble.

Every other day of the week,

My grandfather walked with his back bent 

Or sat on the couch with his head in his hands.

On Sundays though,

He would walk through the house several times,

Straight and upright like a bamboo tree.

They called him “Kid Bamboo” when he was young.

On Sundays, we would sit on the couch watching him walk back and forth.

There was no bent back,

No slowness in his stride.