Her batter dead body laid there.
Her face bruised and unrecognized.
The tears ran down my face in fear.
As I looked upon my grandmothers eyes.
Why did this happen each mouth?
When she got her social security check.
To this day I still ask and hunt,
For those who broke her neck.
Why did it happen again and again?
That she was beaten and robbed.
I remember it clearly as a child of ten.
My grandmother laying on the bed in her robe.
It was mother's day and I brought her roses.
Only to find the door busted apart.
And my grandmother cold from head to toe.
It crushed my soul and broke my heart.
It was not her fought that she was old.
It was not her fought that she was dirt poor.
Now she will never be hungry or cold.
Or suffered the beatings any more.
for my grandmother who was killed in 1967
Copyright © sharon prewitt