Grandpa's Porch

The third step still creaks, Grandpa I let the screen door slap behind me Just so the house sounds right You'd knock your pipe twice on the rail — that's how a story started The storm kept getting bigger every summer that you told it The fish gained twenty pounds a year, the snow rose past the windows And we let it grow, 'cause the telling was the gift Now the chair rocks empty But this porch still knows your voice So I came to tell one back to you, Grandpa, in the dark About a man who built a family out of stories and a porch I'll get some details wrong — you'd want it that way A legend's not supposed to stay the size of facts This one's yours Pipe smoke and cut grass — that's still how June smells to me Lightning bugs on the railing where your coffee used to sit You waved at every truck that passed, whether you knew them or not Half this town can tell me stories I was raised on Now the chair rocks empty But this porch still knows your voice So I came to tell one back to you, Grandpa, in the dark About a man who built a family out of stories and a porch I'll get some details wrong — you'd want it that way A legend's not supposed to stay the size of facts This one's yours Last night the youngest asked me how the big storm story goes I knocked twice on the railing before I started in And somewhere in the dark I heard you laughing The story's still growing, Grandpa You're in it now So I came to tell one back to you, Grandpa, in the dark About a man who built a family out of stories and a porch I'll get some details wrong — you'd want it that way A legend's not supposed to stay the size of facts This one's yours The third step creaks The chair's not empty if I close my eyes Tell me the one about — ah. You know the one.