Reads: 62  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 25, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 25, 2018



When Nana speaks, the world listens.
Her voice a natural vibrato and thick timbre,
skin wrinkled with wisdom,
house full of plastic covered furniture,
smell like hot water cornbread, pot liquor and butter scotch candy,
scribbles cover walls painted rose and lilac,
furniture pieced together from scraps found.

When Nana tells, the world does
With nothing resembling an attitude, an eyeroll, a deep breath.
The world
walks faster, speaks louder, speaks softer,
gurgles Kerosene to fend off sickness,
spits before it goes too far down the throat,
despite the bite and stench.
No matter.
Her words are law followed to the letter
and not corrected for error

When Nana does, the world watches
blankets clean and folded
church outfits adorned with sequins and glitter
like “let it shine”
like “let it rain”
like ten children and fifteen grandchildren and five great grandchildren
and counting

When Nana can no longer speak, or tell, or do
the world attempts to wear shoes too big,
shade eyes with wide brimmed hats
found in tall boxes in the closet,
behind photo albums and old scrapbooks,
in front of peeling printed wallpaper.

© Copyright 2019 Azaria Brown. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: