Oak Bend Review

Editor's Poetry


(first published in the Dallas Morning News neighborsgo print edition, from the soon to be released chapbook The Paper Mill)


Grannyisms
Sandee Lyles


Of all the Grannyisms
it was, by far, my very favorite
and there were plenty
they could fill a slop jar

the way she'd cock her head
and look beyond the bifocals
to be sure she was still
talking to the one
she had started out with

crooked finger up
in that "listen to me" stance

she'd shell peas
on the front porch swing
weave a story
never miss a beat
and spit out those grannyisms
like the snuff she dipped

and not just southern
words and phrases

like when she would
tell me to go and get
a switch
so she could tan me with it

I'd take so long
to pick the perfect one
she'd forget
why she sent me out
(she never actually
laid a hand on me
I never thought
for one minute
she would)

she'd put up preserves
and sing old songs
that must have been
from workin' on the railroad
days

she wasn't much of a hugger
but you felt it
better than if she had been

and her green thumb
created a pure t paradise
people would come from miles
around to "Ivey's Plants and Shurbs"
that's what the sign said
(Cousin Butch was a great artist
but not much of a speller)

but Sundays were the best
every relative in town
even the seconds and once removed
came for the company
stayed for the food

there was always food
chicken and pastry
Brunswick stew
collard greens seasoned to perfection
with fatback
rabbit

you name it

and plenty of it

then banana pudding
to be sure that nobody
would leave without
seams pleading for mercy

and her eighty something pounds
gnawing on fat and gristle
gumming it away
because the teeth came out
when church was over

I guess that
never-sitting-still thing saved her

"You're not big as a minute"
she'd say to me
as I'd shove another
bite of fried cornbread in
I had a good fifteen pounds on her

after we ate
Mr. Ivey would take me out
and tie a rope around
my favorite goat
(the one he had traded
three chickens for)
tie the other end
around my waist
and she'd laugh
crinkle-eyed
while I was pulled
all over that pasture
and she'd yell
"Hold on suge!"

and when we'd leave
she'd load our cars with
frozen bags of butter beans
and something pretty
she had crocheted or grown herself

but it was the littlest thing
when she'd stick her weathered hand
in the car window
and tap my arm quickly
"Touched you last" she'd wink

and she was right.