Grandma Paige Poem by Charlotte Ballard
Grandma Paige
My grandmother
Soft like feather down
Pillows ripped open
In a pillow fight
By Matthew and me.
Her voice, serrated
Sharp by years of
Picking bo' weevels
Out of the flour before
Fixing up pancakes
Rips a wide gorge
In flesh and marrow,
While her black eyes
Wander from the T.V.
And back over the flesh,
Still bleeding, to find
If the maggots still
Squirm.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
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4/24/2024 8:16:10 PM # 1.0.0.1119
