My maternal grandmother and I have always been very close. My birthday is eight days after hers, she made me fat and happy when I was a baby and I definitely get my love of shopping in thrift stores and yard sales from her. These days, we spend every day together and although I am sometimes frustrated by the craziness of her thoughts and questions I enjoy every moment.
I have shared this poem before but in light of my grandma’s birthday on the fourth of this month and an eventful night at a Christmas party last night I decided to post it again.
When I was young
Summer was you
not sunshine, swimming, or staying up late
It was the smell of veneer, peach blossom candy,
raiding your purse for snacks, the clubhouse, and eating
things that my mom didn’t cook.
Summer was trips to the ‘Gator, family gatherings,
swinging on the swing set, learning to blow bubbles,
running wild, no beatings and trying to read “True Story” magazines.
It was no cable but not caring
being intrigued by Square snuff,
cooking eggs for my cousins,
and rides in Granddaddy’s truck.
Summer was everything but it always ended with me
crying when I had to leave you.