by Chrystos
Grandma we all need
partially deaf & busy with weaving
listens through a thick blanket of years & sore feet
nods while I cry about everything they did to me
how horrible & can't stand another
while brown wrinkled you smile at me like sun coming up
I stand next to you pass wool absently
you lay aside the wrong colors without comment
I'm simply Grandchild
babbling your sympathy warm & comforting as dust
I sit in your lap your loom pushed aside
you feed me fry bread with too much maple syrup
I pull your braids you cradle me deeper in
your legs folded to make a basket for me
Grandma who died long before I was born
Come Back
Come Back
for Beth Brant
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