A doily is a grandma thing

It exists in a house on Linwood Avenue

in Pittsburgh

on the back of a parlor chair

a protective creation upon which to rest a tired head

But that was sixty years ago

it exists now in memory

like the smell of liniment in that house

a smell found in a grandma’s house of that era

but I can’t remember the exact smell

although I know it as liniment

another word out of fashion

 

But the doily was a minor character in the parlor

Grandma sat in that chair

while a thin man in a bowtie worked on her feet

He brought his own tiny stool and tools

sat low and hunched over before her

He cut nails and sanded callouses seriously

head down in concentration

while grandma smiled and laughed

I remember her laugh

and remember thinking

I don’t want a job like that