O'er The Street Child

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
a short poem of my childhood as a young girl with her great grandmother

Submitted: April 22, 2016

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Submitted: April 22, 2016

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"O'er the street child"
my grandmother would scream
talking in language as old as time
flipping penny heads up as she leaves
them there for me to pick em
up to see my face light up calling grandma
about my luck
the hidden box in the kitchens pantry holds
the yummiest of cookies hidden there only for me
washing clothes in a huge tub we were not rich my clothes aint new and are food is few
but I did not care her hands the ashen black
from decades of hard work looked beautiful
"now watch child this ain't no game ya hear"
dipping her brush in the soapy water
she scrubs the suds flying in every direction
my eye catches a bubble floating in the air
its stolen light dances on my face and then it
pops as the scrubbing stops i turn and see my grandmother scrubbing with her hands,
In my head I wondered why she'd worked so hard
a chuckle raised in the air as a swollen bubble
as if she were able to hear my thoughts
"it ain't nothing but a thang child it's what i was born to be ya hear to help my family to be a woman if I couldn't do dis I would not be a woman"
she throws the clothes at me and points to the clothes line over the street "now, o'er the street child"

 


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