Grandmothers

Grandmothers are special people

Never knew either grandfathers.

Soldier.

Preacher.

I had one mean grandmother and one nice.

Tall, slender, deaf and blind

As a child I took care of the nice one.

She stayed with us I slept next to the portable urinal

With the Pine-Sol and stool aroma.

All slept

My job was to make sure she didn’t miss or fall

The smell of piss dried on plastic covered floors and days my feet were splattered.

So what. I loved Grandmother.

The mean one, another slap.

Story.

I’d tuck her into bed and kiss her forehead and wipe my feet on the sheets

To see my Grandmother’s breathing rise and fall gave me peace

Seven.

And then then my big sister would wet the bed.

Another day at school smelling like dried piss

I had no friends

The kind teacher would wash the odor

Give me fresh underwear

The blind sisters

Piss poor

but we loved our Grandmother.

She gently felt our faces and gave tight hugs

Cleaning my Grandmothers dentures, brushing her hair with a part

Down the center and two plaits rolled

In back to the nape of her neck.

Her bamboo rocking chair was home in the corner.

I can still hear it creak.