Grandma
I barely knew the grandma on my father’s side,
but Grandma Owens I knew fairly well.
She was my mother’s mother; she took great pride
in cooking us up dinners that were swell.
We’d all come running when her food we’d smell.
I don’t know much about when she was young,
the names of all her siblings or
how many of them she was raised among.
Her name was Doris, and she bore
five children (of daughter there were four).
I never really got to know her when
she had the bloom of youth upon her face.
My mom divorced, and I met Grandma then
because Mom took us back home to the place -
the farm where she’d grown up – her roots there to retrace.
About two years I lived there at the farm
where Grandpa milked his cows and worked in a big field.
There was a yellow house and big red barn.
I liked it there, but not too much appealed
to me about my grandmother. She kept so much concealed.
She had no great relationship with me
or with my sisters (anyway, if she did, I can't recall).
Her real authentic self I failed to see,
and most of what I knew of her at all
were things my mother told me. That info was so small.
Her cooking in the kitchen, a woman gray and stout,
is how I think or her, and always she seemed old.
Few hugs she gave to me, but without a doubt,
she was a thrifty woman, or so I had been told,
She’d been a nurse for babies! So odd this seemed for one so cold.
When Grandpa died, my grandma was a go-getter.
She lived in an apartment. Then she lost a lot of weight!
I visited her sometimes and got to know her better.
I’m practical like Grandma was. That’s one thing I learned late.
She was a godly woman too. Hope she’s there right now at Heaven’s Gate.
Feb. 23, 2023
for Writing Challenge - G Words - Poetry Contest (grandma)
Sponsor: Constance La France
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