By Shara Esbenshade
Class of 2008
Posted Sunday, May 21, 2006, The OG, creative writing

His beard was long, silken, and snowy
once when the road became dirt
and the bus jumped, a hair tickled
my knee. Slightly disconcerted I gazed
into his pupil, he only had one. “Smile!”
he said. We halted, I fell, and he took my picture.

I lay surprised across his lap and pictured
him a pirate with his eye patch snow-
colored: unlikely, but delightful; I flashed a smile
as I stood back up and brushed the dirt
off my coat, accidentally into his gaze
that held me like a baby wanting to be tickled.

I remember squirming in a crib among tickling
hands of relatives; we were the perfect picture
of a happy family. I remembered as I gazed
out the bus window and noticed the snow

flakes fall, softly covering up the city's dirt
which was ugly enough to erase a smile.

The bearded man stood and his smiling
lips, almost lost in his white curls, tickled
my memory as he walked by me, dirty

hands, dirty coat and all. I thought of a picture
from my childhood and followed him into the snow.
The bus left us stranded, locked in our iron gaze.

I asked him if he remembered gazing

at a ticklish baby long ago. He smiled
and I thought, “it's him”, and although the snow
was cold, memories of warmth tickled
my throat. Was he the one in that picture
of the baby, that now lay faded and dirty?

A tear turned to ice as it hit the dirt
beneath me, where my heartbroken gaze
had melted the snow. He was a picture
of my grandfather, but he was starting to fade. His smile
turned into flurries and I became dizzy, confusion tickling
at my brain as he disappeared into the snow.

A polaroid picture materialized in the dirt:
it was me on the bus, a tickled smile hiding
my delighted gaze, but I left it for the snow to take.