I would
often ask you for the stories
of how I
ended up here
and you
would tell me:
I met your grandfather when
he came to work for my parents.
He was a really sharp dresser.
Then you
would laugh.
I wondered
if you knew what you were really
telling
me:
That grandpa
had been given used clothes
by your
lover, a man you were enamored with
and at
first, at the play,
you
thought grandpa was him.
(His scent
permeated the room;
you could
feel him—his essence,
like a star
beam covered in gold dust.
But then
when you looked,
you saw it
was grandpa.)
It must
have been really funny,
but what’s
really funny is that’s why
I’m here.
© Julianne
Carlile
