May 9, 2020
Mid evening she would always unwind her hair,
the bun she wore on the back of her head.
A long braid unfolding down to her waist,
waiting, I would watch thinking,
long hair is beautiful.
My formative years with
me and my Grandma.
She lived with us.
Back then all grandmas wore cotton dresses,
and a cloth flowered handkerchief in her pocket.
This is how I learned to iron,
on that small cotton flowered square.
Mom and dad would take a drive,
leaving us to our devices.
That special knowing smile,
the thought of pickled herring.
Grinning at grandma and the nodding of her head,
two forks an...