She wasn't afraid of dirt, and never painted
her fingernails until
she was old and
her youngest daughter did it for

her But
she planted Petunias in the springtime and
she made green beans with Mrs. Dash and oil in a ***
    where they boiled on the stove And

she could peel five potatoes faster with a knife
    than I could peel one with a peeler. And
she dried
her car in the garage after it rained and

she pressed our shirts.
She quit guitar in
her seventies, or maybe earlier I can't
    remember because the arthritis was too much for

her fingers but
she still sang and still made
her pancakes crispy and still went to church where
she sat on the pew next to last from the back And

she sang hymns with
her sister until
her sister was gone And
she drove a pickup into the woods at eighty and

she wasn't afraid of getting hurt but
she was afraid of the dark
She played Hand and Foot and Checkers and Rummy and
she went to yard sales and

she sent cards to the sick and
she loved red roses and the color purple
    but not the color yellow which
she told my mother she looked bad in and also my aunt.

She spoke with authority and knew what was right
    without having to ask anyone but the Bible and
she told you what
she thought and loved you no matter what and

she would always give you a job if you were sitting
    because there was always something to clean or fetch and
she said there was little worse than being lazy.
She bought wagons for the grandkids and

she covered the fire at night and
she sang about heaven and took walks up on the hill
    until it got too hard for
her to walk. And

she never gave up and
she always held on so tight you could see
her knuckles turn white because there was no letting go.