Where Is My Suit? Poem by Theresa Ann Moore

'Grandma, where is my black suit? '
My answer was vague, not absolute.

'Oh. I am sure that you have gown too tall…
We’ll get another for you when it comes fall.'

I did not give details and I certainly did mislead.
'I gave it away to someone who was in need.'

He did not recognize a single woven thread
As his granddad’s eulogy was solemnly read.

The decision had been frantic, in a stressful scramble.
Grandfather’s suits were too large, so I took a gamble.

Illness had slowly reduce a strong man’s vibrant stature
Cancer was an overwhelming and ravenous snatcher.

His diminished size required much smaller attire.
Time was running out, it was necessary to acquire.

For his farewell, he wore a suit of innocence and youth.
Grandson, will you forgive me when I tell you the truth?