Grandma's Mail-Order Pantyhose

Grandma's Mail-Order Pantyhose

My grandfather was a loving man:

Worked in the refinery

Raised my father

And, I know,

Cared for his wife more than any man Ever cared

for a woman.

Love was working, raising, caring for.

When they were young, they were beautiful.

The old brown prints

Make their faces look like

Easy Arkansas days,

Sunny and stretching

Into warm evening picnics.

Of course,

I never knew them that way.

In middle age, Grandma began her Long, slow

walk toward death. Only a little personality

change

At first,

Then disorientation,

Complete loss of mental capacity, And the

end.

During these years, Grandpa

Retired from the refinery,

Quit fishing, and

Stayed home to do

What she could not, anymore.

One of his jobs

Was buying her pantyhose

STYLE: 717 SIZE: CD Quicksilver in a maroon-

and-white package

that read,

"Silk Reflections: Fits Like a Fantasy"

Somewhere along the line,

Grandpa tired of hunting pantyhose

In the women's section

And had them mail-ordered.

It was a stroke of genius.

They came on a regular basis

Like clockwork

Two pair at a time...

And then his job ended---

She died.

But my grandfather never stopped The order.

I'm not sure why But some

clerk at

Some storehouse in Little Rock Kept

packaging up and shipping

"Silk Reflections: Fits Like a Fantasy"

STYLE: 717 SIZE: CD Quicksilver

To Grandpa's house;

I know because,

Occasionally,

He would give a pair

To my mother or my wife.

Now here's the point:

My grandfather is a lot like me,

And I like to dream

About what he does with the rest.

On evenings,

When life is feeling very long,

He will pull out a package of

"Silk Reflections..."

Take out some rags or scraps, And stuff

them.

Then, he'll sit them down

In the old chair by the front window

Beside the glass cabinet

With all her collections in it, And he'll

talk...

Like they never could at the end.

He'll tell them how much he loved her

Even when she thought he was

Her brother, or "Papa", or a stranger,

How much he cared for her

Even when she brought the knife to bed

Or hit him, or scratched him, How much

he respected her

Even when she made no sense

Or said hurtful things, or didn't talk

At all,

How, next time, they'll live life backwards,

Get the bad times out of the way first

So they can end life young, brown, beautiful,

And both able to say,

"I love you."