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Grandmother MAG
How I hated her when she was with us ,
hated running upstairs to bring her things ,
diabetic candies, a pair of stockings, hairpins ,
hated the way she chewed saltless peanuts
while I watched her false teeth slip and slide.
I was so sad when she went away ,
but still, I cried.
Her room was beige and clinical,
with a basket of faded silk flowers,
dust-covered on the window sill.
Talcum powder smelled everywhere ,
on her huge polyester dresses ,
even in the coarse black wig she insisted on wearing ,
regal.
My sister and I sang Jesus Loves Me
for her,
and for her roommate also ,
the one who talked to a pair of stuffed rabbits
as she shuffled up the hall ,
and the women's sagging faces smiled at us ,
wistful.
I stared back at them, wide-eyed,
not even minding
the false teeth and the rabbits.
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