A picture hangs in the hall
Of me and my grandmother
I stand by her chair
A small curly headed girl.

Grandma sits with half a smile
Soft, wavy, brown hair coiled
In a knot on the back of her neck
Weathered, wrinkled face.

Dress buttoned to the neck
Smoothed over cotton stockings
She rocked the babies
Washed the dishes, tried to keep the peace.

Considered herself an old woman
And so she was, she was sixty
I am twelve years older now
Than she was then

I wear cut offs and tees
I walk the trails and wade the creeks
Drive anywhere I please
Paint my pictures, read my books
Write my poetry, clean and cook

And I think of her back then
When women were worn out
Used up before their time.

She bore seven children
Lost five of them as babes
What grief she must have felt
Though my hair is silver now
And hers was a wavy brown
At any age,
I can never be as old as she.

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