Summer Visit

I can close my eyes, and see
Her gentle, weathered face, 
Hair pulled back into a wispy bun
Grey around the temples, crinkles around the eyes
A bibbed apron, fastened with two safety pins 
To the top of her dress
That apron, which throughout the day
Served as a place to dry her hands
To hold a hot pan of oatmeal cookies straight out of the oven
A hammock to carry tomatoes and cucumbers from the garden
A cloth to wipe my tears after I had skinned my knees

For Grandma, dressing up meant taking off the apron
Putting a black felt hat on the top of her head
And wearing her worn grey tweed coat
Yes then...she would be ready for church, 
Knowing the lyrics to all the hymns
Without cracking open the hymnal
Poking me gently with her elbow
If I failed to bow my head in reverence
While the preacher said the prayer

Sometimes, even today,....
I still feel a gentle twinge between my ribs
Or the soft worn cloth of her apron wipe away my tears
Copyright © | Year Posted 2009

Poem

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La France Avatar
July 26, 2009 at 8:02 AM
Carrie, this is a beautiful poem, and it actually, reminded me of not my grandma, but my great-grandma so much, especially the apron and I just loved your last line, very well written and the love you shared with your grandma is very clear...
Kershaw Avatar
July 24, 2009 at 12:13 PM
Carrie, I think your Grandma and mine were cast from the same mould. Thank God we had them. Weren't they wonderful? This poem is wonderful too. Thanks for reminding me how much Grandma gave me over the years. Always, Will
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