Impossible Guess

“It was impossible.”
First line provided by speakeasy #101 winner Suzanne Purkis

It was impossible to guess

what he was tinkering with.
Also out of the question
for my prying gaze to turn.
Curious, puzzled, brown eyes
watched patiently, captivated.
His bright blue eyes smiling
as he seen me examining him.
At 5 years old, fascinated 
with his rough hands, calloused.
Knowing my grandma, cooking,
would scold him for the language
rambling from his mouth
for my young ears to hear.
Steady, my grandpa held tools,
occupying my heart as well.
Feeling of shedding Sunday dresses,
for play clothes, play tools or sticks.

Years would go by, his stories
retained my attention, my awe.
A teenager peered at him working,
laughing when he cussed the work.
Homecoming dresses slung in a closet,
to throw on a tank top, blue jeans,
run bare foot to the backyard,
just to inquire why his building 
full of tools and beer cans, 
was where he chose to spend his time.
It was impossible to guess
just how much time I had left with him.

@ donetta sifford 3-27-2013


10 responses

  1. Touching childhood memory. I especially liked the description of the hands.

  2. I thought I already left a comment on this! Hmmm. I loved it, very sweet.

  3. Really strong imagery, and I love how you repeat the first line at the end, but in a different context.

  4. This is beautiful. It reminds me of my daughter and my dad.

  5. This is so lovely Donetta! I love the child's-eye-view of grandpa over the years – and the love and awe she feels for him is almost tangible.

  6. I love the physicality of this post – it matches the grandfather's physical job.

  7. I love the hope and wistfulness of this — and the love she obviously has for her grandfather. Very cool!

  8. I liked the reiteration of the thought of impossibility with all the tangible memories between.

  9. Funny how we are drawn to relatives like this. We take comfort in just their presence. Lovely take.

  10. This was sad yet comforting at the same time. The stuff childhood memories are made of. Well done.

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