My Grandmother owned two bells
and she used them to be heard,
to amplify her aging voice.

The first was black iron
on a post out back.
She pulled on its rope from the porch
and it rang a hard thunder
that shook the land.
It rang to bring him home,
to feed him
leftover *** roast and potatoes from the garden

The second felt fragile
porcelain in the palm of the hand.
A sweet child cling
to ring
when she’s sick in bed.
He would come running with a tray
to feed her,
navy blue socks with holes
walking quickly on a linoleum floor.