Here's a patch of a poem from my poem quilt pages. I'm longing for petunias on this gray day.
GLORIFIED
Whenever I praise what she’s brought forth,
whether biscuits or chicken stewed all day
with sweet corn and gumbo, my grandmama says, "To God
Be the Glory." But I tell her I don’t mess around
with an old man who’s so far away he can’t hear me.
I’d rather be talking to petunias that bloom on her porch,
or the bathrobe she wears when she’s making
the coffee, her toes while she’s sleeping in front
of the t.v., her big mouth that’s snoring.
To you be the Glory, I say, feeling
so brazen this morning, I dare God
to give me the finger. “Go scrub out
your mouth,”she scolds, but I see her smiling.
(first appeared in the NC Literary Review)
A bit feisty, but I don't think God minds a little feistiness now and then, do you?
6 comments:
Kay, I can't tell you how much I love this poem and all of your grandmother poems. You loved your grandmother the way Glenda Barrett loved hers and you both write about those woman with such praise and honor. I was not given the opportunity to be close to my grandmother, being that I was raised in exile. Only now when I write about her - Saphrionia - do I find myself literally in awe of her, in worship of her. Thanks for this poem. Hurry. I can't wait for the new book.
This is the first time I have had the pleasure to read your work. I must say this poem was certainly enriching, casting wonderful imagery of your grandmother. A beautiful piece.
Nancy, yes, we do a "grandmother" thing, don't we? And Pura Poetica, thank you for visiting. I enjoyed writing this poem. I'm glad you found it enriching. I've thought I might write a few more in this somewhat feisty but loving "voice."
Love it, including the feistiness!
I still miss my grandmother -- still have some of her old aprons and kitchenware. And when I make her pound cake, it cools on the same ancient wire racks that she used.
This must be Grandmother week! I love this poem, Kay, since I never knew my grandmothers.
I received two grandmother stories from former students this week and another from a friend. How lucky you are to remember your grandmother. I'm named for my grandmother, but never knew her.
Kay, add me to the list of those who love the poem, especially the feistiness! I remember both grandmothers but don't have such fond memories. As you know, I'm stuck with mother/father/friend/small town memories. We had snow today--in Eastern NC. It is beautiful. My dogs are having such fun. Little Scout, a wannabe dalmatian, is hardly visible in the snow. If it weren't a few spots, he would be invisible. I want a workshop led by you!!! Teresa M. Blackmon
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