Betty Jane

A poem for Grandma, the real Queen of Spades

My grandma’s apartment. The bushes are overgrown now, but in the spring the roses still bloom. (photo owned by author)

I cried a gully warsher when you left us
And sopped up them tears with buttermilk biscuits
I can’t say that you'd be pleased

I’ve kept a hankering for waller’n them babies
And, i swanee-
I miss your elbows and cheese

I wish we could sit and talk a spell
That my roses would always grow
That my beans were always fit to eat
And that you know I love you so

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