Grandma

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 and a jar,...