Issue FourPoetry

Written by:

Views: 1968

By Kenneth Pobo


My grandmother’s house, weathered,

a dirt driveway.  When I visit

she makes a cherry pie.

I help her pit.  She tells stories

as cherry juice stains my polo shirt.

At 85, decades turn cornflower

blue by her mailbox.


Grandpa had one habit she hated—

he’d chew tobacco in the living room,

spit—brown slime on the floor.

She squeezes a cherry

like it’s a head, eyes ready to bulge free.


Her pie will taste sweet—

but cut by lemon juice she dribbles in,

a perfect blend

as the knife nears the edge.


Artwork by Jackie Benney. Published with permission of the artist.