Papaw's Lucky Pair

Time has blown like the wind,
but my memory of you is as crisp as a freshly picked tomato from your garden.

Oh, Papaw...
seems like yesterday
you were teaching me how to bait a hook,
how to garden,
drying my tears when I scraped by knee from falling off my bike,
and teasing me about my first boyfriend.

I still have the cigar box you gave me after all these years,
it's almost falling apart, overflowing with memories of you.
Dozens of pictures, fishing hooks and float bobbers,
old scratch off lottery tickets we got every Saturday,
and your lucky pair of gardening gloves.

I remember you telling me stories of how your gloves were magical,
if you didn't wear them your garden would never flourish.
Giggling at your silliness, knowing you were telling a fib.

Only as I grew up, I began to ponder if it was really true,
I dragged out those old worn out gloves,
and as I worked, I felt your presence,
it was like your hands were molding into mine,
making my every move for me.

"Only time will tell Papaw," I said as I dusted the dirt off my blue jeans
and put the gloves in my back pocket as I sipped a glass of cold, tart lemonade.

As the weeks flew by,
I began to get disheartened,
only to hear you remind me,
"Patience, baby girl."

As I awoke one hot summer morning,
I casually looked outside, expecting to see no progress.
Gasping, I ran outside to see my elegant, long-stemmed lilies,
just as smooth as silk, petals like fluffy clouds.

Tears start to cascade down my cheek as I hold your pair of gloves,
I wish you were here to say, "I told you so."

Your stories are no longer stories, they are true to the very word,
I will use these gloves as I garden,
I promise to doctor them as they begin to show signs of wear and tear.

I will share your legacy with my grandkids,
and let the gloves do most of the talking.

*rough draft, needs a lot of editing; written for a club challenge.

Copyright 2012: Hannah K.