Grandpa

I miss the smell of peppermint and mothballs
and the way he twiddles his thumbs when he’s bored
and the way he twits his wedding ring when he’s nervous
and how I could do no wrong.

I miss the apartment in Queens
with the small black and white TV
and the plastic covered chairs
and the box of chocolates he always had lying around.

I miss how he can never find the cups
and the way he stands in the middle of the room
to think things through
and his raspy voice
and how he would make up songs
to make us laugh
as he cooked us pancakes on Sunday mornings.