by Ute Carson
Scarlet Leaf Review, No 3, 2019

When I was little

I didn't know that my grandmother was old,

that her white hair had once been raven-black,

her face wrinkle-free,

and that her voluptuous figure had lured

many a man from his righteous path.

Snuggled against her body, I was warmed.

Encircled by her arms I felt protected,

her kiss wiped away every hurt.

And when she leaned over me at bedtime

her sweetness smelled like vapors of incense.

Above all, she taught me about love

with words married to her sense of what matters.

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