You are soft hands,
that scrub the blue table,
pushing loose leaflets
of food along.
Proof, of the joy
that your grandchildren
brought to lunch.
Your hands carry nimble fingers,
that works out tangles,
as you twist my sister's hair,
into a shiny braid.
Her hair is dark,
like the sweet surprises
of Hershey chocolate,
that softens the blow
of leaving you.
You are bottles of Tea
that every grandchild is
hungrily scrambling to steal,
bursting with sweetness
and nourishment,
soothing the dryness
hidden in our throats.
You give us sweet energy,
so that we can face life
with a strong stance.
We all want to live
life in your example.
You are the loaf of bread
That proudly sits in the oven,
despite its previous beating,
from hungry hands.
You rise again,
refusing to fall under
the tremendous heat.
You provide warmth
in many bellies,
a warmth so strong,
that it spreads to the heart.
You are the many pictures
That are lined up on the wall.
That beautifully display life,
hidden in black cropped hair,
and shining blue eyes.
You provide a glimpse
into the painfully pretty past,
serving as a reminder,
that my generation,
will never face the pain
that you and your
siblings stood against.
You are a library
filled with countless
hard and soft covers,
that contain rows and rows,
of suspenseful words.
Your shining light
proves as a distraction,
against the harsh,
cold facts of reality.
Yet, you still manage
to fit in lessons,
that was kept hidden,
in your kitchen cupboards.
You are a gift
that is wrapped in
pale skin,
funky glasses,
and moon like hair.
Such a gift,
can only be provided from God.