praise song for the older lady
silver strands
blue veins
dimpled legs
aching knees
in praise of all her possible
shrinking inches
expanding pounds
jiggling flanks
creeping joints
in honor of her still dreaming
In Mother's Favorite Chair
IN MOTHER’S FAVORITE CHAIR by Tayé Foster Bradshaw I am not sure when this journey began or really, where it will even end up. I keep thinking that I will walk back into the room and see her sitting there, book in hand, coffee at her little side table, a smile on her face. But I am fully awake and I know this is all happening, all around me. “Your mother went up to heaven,” that’s what they all told me. “Okay.” I ran off to play. I am only four years old. I believe them. They would never lie to me, this I am sure of. They have always taken care of me, giving me cupcakes that my grandmother made, the lady with the long, long gray hair that I saw one time in the early morning when she didn’t know I was awake. I was supposed to be asleep on the sofa, snuggled next to my little brother and my cousin, we were supposed to watch Romper Room in the morning, I was awake, hol...
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