A new poem about my Grandmother Bonnie

Grandmother Was a Lady


Always a lady when going out,
a black hat sat firmly
on her silver hair gathered in a bun
at the nape of her slender neck.
Eyes as blue as a Blue Jay’s feather
twinkled through lids
crinkled with laughter and hard times
while the white gloved hand holding mine
was certain to remind me
“Act like a lady.”


With elegance, her tall figure
marched me through Woolworth’s
in search of witch hazel for her face,
Evening in Paris cologne and powder,
necessities in her life.
Before bed, silver bun, brown braids unwound,
cascading down our backs,
she led our nightly ritual,
one hundred strokes with the brush,
Jergen’s lotion on the elbows.

Leaving for school in the morning
she would remind me,
“Remember whose granddaughter you are.”
How could I forget?


Kay Cox
8/2010