Grandmother

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Grandmother, 
“It’s for the birds,” 
“I remember when…” 
“makes my blood boil” 
grandmother, 
North Carolina was kind 
to you 
and your eight siblings. 

You, 
without prejudice 
and respecting the world equally — 
unless you are a politician. 
A manager at your day, 
a pioneer with an opinion, 
married to hard work 
and barely to my grandfather. 

A symbol of how age 
turns strong features 
into gentle frowns and smirks, 
slowing your mind 
into a kinder frame, 
afraid of losing this small family. 

Mother 
of a singular child, 
also strong in will. 
Less than a mother 
to my mother, 
but a business woman 
true. 

I honor your wisdom 

and forget to call, 
yet respect you for 
the things you’ve never explained. 
Our lack of conversations 
or weekly visits 
does not reflect on my affections. 

You are still my grandmother. 

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