On the gravel and grass
at the edge of the country road,
she's walking home.

She has on her dark blue dress
with the little white polka dots.
Her ample behind shifts left and right
to a determined beat.

A light-gray hat sits atop
her steel-gray hair.
A pearl-gray hatpin
shows itself firmly set.

Her suitcase is brown
with two tan stripes.
She swings it
with a hell-bent rhythm.

* * *

She's walking to her old house,
but they'll catch up to her.
They'll find her
and take her back
before she finds out
(again)
that it burned down.

They say Grandma is crazy,
that she's not all there anymore.

She probably isn't.
Part of her is likely
where she's trying to go.

She's walking
Home.


Harry W. Yeatts Jr.