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Granma
A shuffle of cloth,
heaving of her chest.
Fragrance of
her.
Creaking of bones;
always smiling
and hardly a complaint.
Soft wrinkly hands
take hold of a pan.
Born of another time;
been doing it for years.
Dust hovers among her dragon hoard.
Oven is filled
as well as my
face,
stomach,
heart.
I think you captured Nanny
I think you captured Nanny perfectly in this piece.