Monday, February 15, 2010

A blend of nylon and spandex.

My grandmother told my sister and me,
the one summer we stayed with her,
"anything but Nana or Mawmaw."
We called her “pantyhose” for several years

I speak of her now as if she is dead.
It's funny how things happen.
Funny like a squirrel,
flattened on the road, at the edge of the white line,
so close to the grass, almost to a tree.
Funny like the way an incoming storm
pushes all the trees one way
and turns the leaves over,
revealing the curve of their underbellies –
Beautiful like my grandmother that summer,
while she tucked my sister and me
in to sleep, in her pale green night gown.

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