Grandma

Raw beauty, like food, feeds the eyes

before the heart and soul

Sturdy curves that bend but don’t bow

Silky strands that stretch but don’t break

Stubborn strokes that dry but don’t bite

Staring gaze that pierces and never shakes

Shining eyes that glow and never fade

Soothing smile that warms and never drops

Soaring legs that march and never wait

Skillful hands that cook and never halt

Until the day it all crumbles to dust

Leaving behind the wistful scent

of freshly cooked dishes

to feed my gaping wounds