Moments before the door opened
and Sadie and Amy rushed after the schoolbus
in a blur of plaid,
several amanuenses appeared
with their notebooks
for some frantic last-minute jotting,
unfiltered cigarettes painted
flamboyantly
dangling hither and yon.
Never at a loss for words
they stood there as dapper as
spigots among the lawn ornaments
gauging the celibacy
of artichoke hearts.
Unfazed, grandmother continued
to stare resolutely
at the innards of grandfather's clock
as familiar to her
after so many years
as the crannies of her night kitchen.
It was time for her to unveil
the nitty gritty: the butterfly collection
we'd all heard about
held back for a year or two
in the lower grades.
The first hint of it had long
been forgotten
buried under tons
of paper-weighted paperwork.
Meanwhile, several others
seemed to be in the final stages
of their journey
back from who knows where.
It was the last thing she remembered
before getting up and leaving
the room without fanfare.
