My Grandma
She spoke with such eloquence.
Words uttered daily as if she lived during
The Elizabethan times.
Muttering and expressing differences
commands request and orders
aloud in Queen's English.
Her long and woolly silver hair
in a long braid she carried.
With her long and pointy nose
she smelled from afar when her grand 
children were in trouble.
A golden-oak complexion proudly displayed
as a monument to the mixture of cultures
flowing through her veins.
Part Jewish, part East Indian, part Scottish 
and  part Black.
Alike a rainbow she embraced equality embodied
Which was spelled out among us
the beauty and importance of being diverse.
Difference ought not to exist in a lighter or 
darker  shade.
But in the morals that one propagates.
Oh grandma... how I long for thine hugs, kisses
and words. Oh the scowling words.
Woe be unto you.
Her favorite words uttered in that sharp 
Elizabethan thong.
Which made us feel as if she were a living and 
walking
Shakespearean drama Queen.
When she reprimanded us
I rather received her lashes than to hear her 
powerful voice.
That's how much I loved and respected my grandma.


Sabas Whittaker (c) 1998