My voice got a compliment
Last night,
Not for the first time.
Apparently I sound a lot like my
Well-to-do Southern grandmother,
Look like her,
Walk like her.
I don't have her natural
Eloquence in clothing.
She wore Pendleton jackets,
Silk scarves.
I wear jeans
And sneakers.
For dress-up,
Black sneakers.
She sewed,
My other grandma crocheted.
I do some of both.
But when I gaze in the mirror,
Anymore,
I see her looking back,
A patient smile,
Crush-crinkled eyes
That have watched a
Lot of water fall.
Her other granddaughters
Resemble different parentage.
Yet, they were her fulfillment,
Slender and tall,
The perfect children.
She'd had a rough life,
Wasn't proud of her roots,
Her harsh daddy and the
Thieves and traitors behind him.
Did she ignore me,
Because she couldn't bear
To look at herself?
