Grandpa's Ears

GRANDPA'S EARS

By the time I was fully aware of my meager family
I spent days and nights with Grandpa Roy
Walking hand in hand to the great St. Johns river
Not a word spoken between us on the walk.

We were a quiet people.

At supper he naturally sat at the end of the table
My proper Southern Grandma had set the table in formal style
He would tease me, looking my way and wiggling his ears
I never quite mastered that trick without stretching and straining my hairline.

We were a gentle people.

Grandpa Roy was a tall figure of a man
His birth and ancestors a closed book, or an unmentioned secret
Suddenly moving from Knoxville to Miami in 1921
Changing the path of his life forever.

We were a mysterious people.

He was handsome, like Clark Gable, with a Stetson hat
His thin moustache neatly trimmed
He dressed elegantly in the style of the times
Always dressed to exchange greetings with a passersby.

We were a fashionable people

Flower gardening was his calling and favorite creative diversion
He grew magnolias and carnelias and azaleas where chameleons could hide
No yardman could match the supernatural touch of his hands
His yard, and his life were immaculate.

We were a fruitful people.

Grandpa Roy smoked a pipe with an escaping sigh of cloudy sweetness
Pipe smoke still kindles my fragrant memories of his bottomless heart
I was always in tow when he moved to their Florida room to escape the social inertia
It was a place where the fascia of his ingrained pretense could be restored.

We were a memorable people.

As a kid I rode home from church, just he and I
He made stops at what seemed like random homes
He would conspire to leave much needed gifts of groceries
Grandpa Roy always gave more than he received.

We were a kind people.