Grandad's Arms, a poem written by Rochelle Foles at
Scott Higdon

Grandad’s Arms

Grandad’s Arms

written by: Rochelle Foles



her grandmother        stood at the window in the kitchen

             the corners of her mouth turned up into
                  an unconscious slight smile
                  at the sight
                             of a spinning yellow blur   
                              under the big oak
                              in the middle of the pasture
                              surrounded by green grasses
                                                       wonderous hues of wildflowers

she quietly called out to grandad
                             come see this

                the lanky cowboy sauntered in
                             from the breezeway
                             with his umpteenth cup of coffee
                              peered at the blur of yellow
                              opened the side door
                              stepped out on the deck beside the metal glider and
                                   called out in his smooth baritone voice

                                      sheeeeeelllllliiii  lllllloooooooooo…

she might have
                             been 4
                                   or perhaps five

              precious in the way
                  innocent girls that age are

               dressed in smocked yellow lawn
                                                white lace
                                                patent leather

                                                  up to her shins in spring grasses
      slowing her spin
      she turned toward her name

       her face radiant she took a wobbly step or two
      then broke into an off kilter run
                                                 arms stretched out before her

      he took a few long strides
crouched his tall body low
offering a bent knee
                 wide open arms

 she flew into them with all her might
                   knowing she would be caught
                   rough housed with
                   and given a wickereye


                   from the window her grandmother took it all in
                                said to herself
                                         hold this dear
                                         hold this snapshot of the soul

                                         for.                           ever.

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