My grandmothers skin is pickled rainbows
Bright from life, and crumpled with use
Every painstaking line a story
Of her joys and sorrows;

The day she met my grandfather
Her first day of school
Stealing cookies from the jar
The day she had my mother,
The day her mother passed on.
Riding horses,
Colder winters,
Cheaper candy,
Family picnics in summer,
And sneaking out of the house ...

My grandmother is beautiful,
And I love every story
That her rainbow shows.