Poem XXI: My Grandmother’s Smile


Feathered grasses float before
A chipped door, eight decades old.

Old, ornate, many-windowed:
Our house, hoard for handy-men.

I’m just six; I cross cracked tiles
To where Grandma’s washing walls.

Gray-grimed walls, once gilt-papered
Are streaked now by soap and silt.

Her hard-worked hands halt halfway –
She feels me standing; turns, and smiles.


Twice we moved; I turned eighteen.
At her table Grandma sat
All day, with Coke and Solitaire
And newspapers, most unread.

At night the windows opened
Deer approached, crickets slipped in.

I stretched to span the lamplit floor
And turned to talk with Grandma.

Missing teeth startled me,
But I recall her smile daily.

Grandma Charlotte, I miss you. May God remember you.

4 thoughts on “Poem XXI: My Grandmother’s Smile

  1. just beautiful. hoard for handy-men, I turned eighteen, Deer approached, crickets slipped in, I stretched to span the lamplit floor…. well interspersed to render the reader to sense the incense of the poem.


  2. Thanks, you are both too kind.

    Selena, I dread the day when I first submit my writing for acceptance or rejection. I feel that I have not applied myself to the art faithfully enough to honestly say, ‘this is my work.’


  3. You might like to read Flannery O’Connor’s “The Habit of Being” in which she advises students of writing to expect many rejections as part of the territory (or something like that – that was a dreadful paraphrase)! But meanwhile we all benefit from reading your work for free on the internet.


Chime In!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s