Monday, April 16, 2018




Grandma
                    by Ralph Fletcher


On the first warm day
she’s kneeling in the dirt,
smiling and humming
like she does making bread.

Grandma’s planting tulip bulbs
that are almost the same color
as her own worn knuckles.
Watch out her hands work

the dark mounds of soil
in that dirty confusion
of bulb and knuckle,
knuckle and bulb. 

2 comments:

  1. Your family poems are always so heartfelt. I used many of your poems from RELATIVELY SPEAKING to inspire my students to write about their own families. They loved those poems as much as I do.

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  2. You are sweet, Linda. Thanks so much.

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