Grandwoman

By the age of three

my daughter mastered

the art of name-calling.

Understanding eventually followed

her mouth no longer struggled

uneven spokes of wheeled elocution

Grandma

Grandmother

Pennsylvania farm daughter of Austrian immigrant mother

World-traveled racehorse daughter of Irish immigrant mother

Young mothers swaddled in marriage

factory worker

self-taught artist

giver, hard to receive

receiver, scared to give

strong, yet, weak

weak, yet, strong

More than seventy years weave across their parchment faces

their bodies a musty, muddled mass of painful surprise

both women’s eyes offer the same soft, dulled light

voices passionate as two youths

laughing, trading secrets of their discontent,

unattained dreams weighted with veteran wisdom

bound by commiserate survival

their dual entreaty,

passionate repetitions

electrify my daughter’s character

with time travel beyond generations

tamed in the current of possibility

She becomes.

Our Woman-Warrior

Sword of hearts

determination her coat-of-arms;

The World will know

the Spirit of Grand.

(c) Vicki Riley-Fischer 2001
All rights reserved