Memories are the canvas…experiences the brush-strokes. This poem, though short, packs a ton of emotion and feeling into its small place on the web. It is a beautiful canvas with bold brushstrokes.
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The Winter Bites My Bones 
That was the perfect picture to accompany your poem, Polly.
When I close my eyes I can almost hear the grandma’s voice. In my mind it’s a little raspy. Perhaps she was a smoker as well? Or maybe she’s getting over a bad cold.
But the grandkids know to mind her as soon as she tells them what to do.
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