Spaghetti Grandma
Spaghetti Grandma
She scratches her pulpy ruby nose,
Heaves, and leans her heavy bosom
On the pitchfork, dangerously bending
The prongs over the swollen tomatoes.
Trying not to stare at the weary body
Enlarged like a blimp, obediently,
The child’s eyes avert the navy blue smock
Resting on her grey-green eye, the only
window she has left on the world.
She readjusts her horn-rimmed glass
On her nose,
Briskly slips a big copper coin
Into my pocket,
And in a spicy voice
Accented with the fragrance of another sun,
She speaks of another time and place
Magically spinning tale after tale
And my mind is agog and reeling with delight
Filling with the words she feeds me.
Anne-Marie Coreggia
03/15/2017 - 117 words
I entered this poem about my Italian grandmother
in the free verse contest.
Copyright © Anne-Marie Coreggia | Year Posted 2017
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