my grandmother

my grandmother is getting thin
like a dried autumn leaf
and her bitterness gives me shivers

her garden is exhaling and rolling up out of the earth
in notes of sunshine and water
and i sit across from her in the twisted wire rocking chair

fifth cigarette drifting in her smoky eyes
bouncing between her lips
with every lovely thing she tells me

in her most eloquent vocabulary

she is the wisest person i know
and she stands alone shaking in her roses
its only me she lets wade in her tarragon

and listen to her fabels

her eyelids
are heavy and thick and as white as her eyes
and their milky boundaries magnify the cool blue of her wisdom

her silver hair is pulled like thick boat ropes
away from her face
and it always feels like shes running at you
with words

like pellets that sting
stick
sink in and lay in wait
until they are needed

i pick them out regularly
and put them in my jewelry box
along with my paints and purfume

my grandmother pushes up her sleeves
over her gardening gloves and tanned tissue skin
and her beauty is always astounding
despite all of her turmoil