Grandmother

A poem for my grandmother.

Boisterous applause
on the black of the pan,
bubbling eager
for bayou born hands.

Dark dusty skin
like the soil of homelands,
spiced with the method
of mother of mother.

White men on crosses,
black faces in photos,
of family from graveyards
or just beyond grasp.

exhausted linoleum,
faded by traffic,
of church shoes,
and paw pads,
by ambles
and drawls.