Grandma

October 20, 2007
By
Her gray head of tight curls
Dance as she walks,
In the darkness she stares
Telling stories of old times.

'And there they were...'
She says over the glow
of orange sparks,
Her wrinkled hands growing and shrinking.

Our open mouths stare back at us
through her over-sized specks,
The life shining in her eyes,
Taking us captive...





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