Doctor Grandma

My Dutch grandma,

who I dearly loved,

had bow-legged-legs

that curved outward,

a giggly laughter

that filled our days,

a love for my grandpa

that never stopped,

and a fear of brown-skinned people.

When I was a little girl of 3,

while tightly holding onto me,

she spoke to a neighbor

in a whispered voice,

“Be careful who she sold the house to.”

The neighbor nodded, she understood,

Their biggest fear being

a brown-skinned family

moving onto their street,

because that would mean

we’re all the same,

and take away the little bit of gain

that a poor, working-class immigrant family had.

My Dutch grandma

served me 7-Up,

and cookies shaped like windmills,

My grandpa sipped coffee from the saucer,

which came from the pot that perked on the stove,

and put ketchup on his potatoes.

During the Depression,

he built sidewalks downtown,

while Grandma ripped out seams

of hand-me-downs,

put them together again

to make clothes anew,

and somehow they made it through.

After all those years,

they couldn’t bear to see

people move in next door

to bring them down again,

Sometimes those closest to one another

are the farthest of all apart,

Afraid to look in the mirror and see

the face of her neighbor,

a tapestry,

the interwoven stories and lives

of all humanity.

cfblack  05-12-14

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