Wednesday, June 04, 2008
For eighty feet or so we are together, mere seconds.
She hobbles in, cute as a sheep, and I smile.
Her gnarled finger illuminates the “L” on the panel.
Our eyes meet, and “venerable” unbidden springs.
I sip at my coffee, glancing at her silver slippers.
…From here to the moon those feet have walked.
The door opens and a clink of keys breaks my reverie.
Ahh! She is going to check her mail, a wink as we part.
In that final descent to the parking garage, I move to
Where she stood, and breathe in six distinct thoughts
Of my own grandmother. Scenes, words, stories.
As I walk to my car, several more arrive… memories.
And three questions, as I drive to work bug me.
What is that smell?
What is that the smell of?
What is that smell called?
© Ciprianowords Inc. 2008