Nearly cried, realizing
I’ve almost forgotten her voice;
had to bring her back with my pen.
Grandma’s stout German frame
in her garden
legs bowed with knees refusing to bend.
Bent at the waist, rump in the air
picking cucumbers and ground-cherries.
Wearing a shapeless cotton dress
with tiny flowers and a cobbler’s apron
in contrasting prints.
All her dresses crafted
from the same Simplicity Pattern
in multiple prints and colors;
sewn on her black
Singer Sewing Machine.
Thin silver hair tidily tucked in a hairnet,
rough sturdy farm wife hands.
White cotton sheets
billowing on a southern zephyr,
fragrant of lilacs and cucumbers.
Belly jiggling laughter like Santa’s wife.
Hugs which nearly squeezed
my head off.
Joyce Chelmo
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cotton-memories/
