Wednesday, December 22, 2010

The One With The Grandmother Who Looked Like Jane Wyman.

Dear Lover,

I remember her almost daily.
In the expressions Mother Mary uses.
In those silver glitter pair of Toms.
Every other girl around here wears.
Don't they know she started it all?
With her pair of shiny silver Keds.
The ones she'd wear while scattering grass seeds in the yard.
Like Cinderella feeding the hens.
In the dollop of whipped cream.
On the side of every slice of pie.
In freckled tan forearms.
And silver forefinger rings.
The way my fingers stretch across morning cereal bowls.
When the sugar needs a bit of stirring.
I think of her when I eat a bowl of grits.
And tomatoes and okra gumbo.
Fudge and banana pudding and orange danish, too.
In dishes lined with aproned ducks.
And feet propped up to watch reruns of Coach.
Heart-shaped charms.
Lined up nail polish bottles. 
In those 15 more minutes before rolling out of bed.
And turquoise polka-dotted handkerchiefs caught tight between pierced lips.


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