Granny's Garden

She sat on her front porch swing, Moving backwards and forwards, As a heavy bag of cornfield beans Sat next to her, awaiting stringing I sat on the floor, engrossed in words That colored her a soft blue and purple Colors of whispers that linger inside Smiling from their wise hues of insight She began to string the beans, dropping First the string into the trashcan, then The broke bean into the massive bowl That sat there, filling to the brim with beans I listened to her words of kindness drifting Through the breeze that cooled the warm Summer air with breaths of compassion, An embrace from the sweetness of her grin She gradually filled the bowl and emptied The weighty bag so that it was collapsed And slowly pulled long puffs from a Winston Her favorite cigarette, her one and only addiction I sang a silly tune of some sort to her as she Worked, compelling her to place her hands up Covering her ears in amusement and truth As my voice was definitely lacking any rhythm She labored with her garden the way I might With some poem that seems to long for my touch Whispering freshness into the heart and soul As she graced us all with fresh vegetables