there were roses and horned toads

that spit on your hand when you caught them

yellow jackets, chickens

and rumors of panthers in the woods

that screamed like women in distress


there were strawberries in the garden

for my sister and me to eat

dipped in sugar from a porcelain cup


there were musty books

packed away in a trunk

that filled the cool rainy days

and coal oil lamps warm and bright in the dark

when the storms came


there was warm and unquestioning love

in her blue eyes shining behind rimless glasses


after countless shabby rent houses

strange schools, broken friendships, absent father

home has always been my grandmother

and her simple house of my youth

9/18 LV
Copyright Michael Douglas Scott