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Grammy cultivated her garden with panache
In her day, the garden was food on the table  
So many staples---Potatoes, beans, squash
 
You ate what you grew and even the crumbs
My grandmother’s thumb was so green
It could have grown green thumbs
 
Her garden was a luscious patch
Corn taller than my grandpa's head
Her scrumptious tomatoes had no match                          
 
Working in the garden at high noon
Tired and spent, hot or cold…there she was
Grandpa’s hat on, humming a tune
 
No fear at Grammy’s house…hmmmm, is that the hose?
On the sidewalk, a huge, stripped king snake coiled
He raised his head and hissed, owning me head to toes
 
Screaming and running into the corn rows
Ophidiophobia…new phobia for me
Repulsion of legless lizards within me grows
 
Gradually, returned to the scene of the reptile
That hissing, hideous thing was out of sight
Grammy said he was hiding from me, the crazy child
 
The first warm spring day, this serpent
Old King, the king snake, slithered out
“Why?” I asked her, “Why do you not kill it?”
 
Her king snake patrolled to keep out things that robbed
His presence—no rodents, snakes, rabbits, turtles
Killed as though he knew it was his job
 
They had an understanding…Grammy--the king
She picked him up, placed him in a basket
It felt like my grandma’s senses had taken wing
 
My Grammy passed away two years ago
I miss her so much…but I wonder--
Where did that King, the king snake, go?
 
This is a true story.
© a year ago, Carol Davis

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