He was country-shy and hardly looked my way,
just stepped onto the porch and talked to Dad
about the weather, Shoeless Joe, the best
type of knife to skin a catfish with.
until Dad winked at me and went inside.
We listened to the tree frogs and the crickets
talking up a storm compared to us.
You'd thought we'd been struck dumb, hardly a word
until I said in an off-hand sort of way,
"This sure would be a nice night for a walk."
We followed the footpath down to Broad River Bridge,
leaning out into the dark, upstream
Eureka hummed, each pane of tinted glass
blue and pretty as a town-church window.
He didn't say a word, just took my hand.
Cy Twombly
Alessandro Twombly
1965
Untitled
Acrylic and watercolor
on paper
Ron Rash
My Grandfather
Comes Calling
Spartanburg
1998©
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