by Jill Hemming
My grandma always said
her favorite glasses
were thick cat-eye shapes
with fake cut diamonds.
The kind you wear in the portrait ·
at the back of your book.
Your buck teeth waggle
like they’ll poke to 3-D
as I shut this cover
on your crazy hair that puffs
too silly. You don’t look
like you ever went to a formal
and I bet the boys
laughed at your back
when you walked
but oh, I think I like you
despite six feet of dark earth.
You’re still pushing stones,
trying to topple
the hard monuments
men cement to your feet.
