To My Grandmothers...

To My Grandmothers

One was German
big and buxom.
Had white hair that
was tinted blue.

She smelled of Oxydal and
fresh sheets blowing
in the wind in her yard
of the Housing Project.

She was forever baking
that Old One.
Raised ten children so
I guess she knew how.

Her house smelled of
coffee brewing and bread baking
and blueberry pie you could
sink your heart into.

She had big ears and hands
and feet and a lap you could
climb up onto and sleep yet
she'd just hold you.

She was patient and kind
and had a button box so
big it would blow your
mind but she'd let me play,

In that box or standing at
her dresser where there were
always treasures, lipstick,
hair nets, perfume and her hair

Always stuck in her comb and brushes
laying on the dusty doilies as
I'd plunge my hands into
her sweet smelling dusting powder.

She was always nurtruing, taking
care of the world around her
and I was there to watch her
ways and spirit them away

So that now I can take her out
late at night, or on a rainy
day and remember that bosom
that was so soft and safe.

I hope that she comes to take me
to her special place as I cross
over to the other side to be
with the grandmothers of all time.

The other was little and flighty,
wrinkly and sick.  Maalox
always surrounding her lips.
She was French and oohlala!

Could she be mean when it
was warranted but yet she
called me her guardian angel
as she lay on her deathbed.

She bore my mother and gave her
to Death so young.  Seems like
she was cursed with sickness
and found things hard to overcome.

I always thought her special because
she was my mother's mother.  I
remember all the times we spent
together, singing songs and dancing,

And making meat pies for hours on
end.  We'd eat till we were so
full we thought we'd never
take another bite, but cleaning

Up we'd have one more.  Then
go lay down on the floor till
resting was done and we'd get
the giggles and "oh my god,"

She loved to tickle and to goose
and be just plain silly and loose.
But she could be mean the old ancient
one, always something on the tip of her tongue.

She drove that damned old Rambler
with the push button drive with the
windows rolled down and her
hair plastered tight,

By an old silk scarf tied under
her chin and I'd look at her
and begin to grin.  Then by God
the stories would start to pour

Forth from her mouth and she was
always right or so it seemed because
she was my Grandma and I
held her esteemed.

She taught me to cook and to
keep a clean house, to do the wash
and iron a blouse, but she taught
me much more than that about

Life, the hard ways.  To keep
pushing on even on dark days
and for this I remember and honor
her spirit and hope on my deathbed

She calls to me from the river
where she stands on the good
Red Road, waiting for me so
I can unload, the burdens of this

Life and get on with the good
to embrace the Ancient Ones and
be understood and when my children
come to me..........

I too shall be standing on the
other side, under a shady old
tree with my grandmothers by
my side, waiting to meet them
for the very first time.

© Akasa WolfSong
   2/3/2000