IMAGES
WORDS
REFLECTIONS
(Dedicated to my grandmother, Tallulah Little Dozier)
In my grandmother's house
I live surrounded by old
dark wood and the song
of the wood thrush
playing on tape.
In my grandmother's chair
I sit fitting into cotton
crevices formed by old hips
and wood worn smooth
by soft, wrinkled hands.
I'm occupying still-warm
vacated spaces.
My grandmother's strong bones
are buried in the graveyard
by the interstate highway
but I catch reflections
of her memories
in the bathroom mirror
as I pass.
She is too quick for me.
Copyright (c) 1990-2012 Elizabeth Dozier Steedly
Please do not use without permission.