my only memory of her:
tiny white-haired frame
standing in a pink bathrobe
and old house slippers
at the end of the driveway.
my great grandmother
watches me from what seems
like miles away,
shading her eyes from the Oklahoma sun
with a frail white hand.
As I make a break for freedom
on my tricycle,
I can’t tell if she is worried
or jealous.

Advertisements