Banana Popsicles

Wrote after the loss of my gramma.

December 23, 1926.  Quite the beautiful sunrise.

So utterly fabulous, Papa married her 2 or 3 times.

Many a story to share.  Colorful tales to tell.

She’s marched a million miles.  Traveled a few Thousand Trails.

Tiny town of Shepherd, Texas is where she ultimately planted her roots.

She could be just as comfortable camping under the light of the moon.

In the muggy evenings, shadowed at dusk.  Boy, did she like to play.

Set her down comfortable at a card table. 

And you bes’ to get out of her way.

She will take you for a furious ride on a Mexican domino train.

Throw down the Uno cards and bring on the pain.

So you had better bring you’re A-game for even half a desired wish.

Cuz majority of your chances lean towards her tellin’ you to go fish.

Quite often she started her day at the colorful crack of dawn.

Makin’ nourishing meals and getting’ Papa out the door & gone.

She was very good at her job.  Her job was takin’ care of home.

The best salmon patties & peach cobbler Jazz & I have ever known.

Past all of what she had to do, she found moments for some smiles.

Gardening, crocheting and sewing.  Crafting in her homegrown style.

She would sneak in a lil’ Burt Reynolds.  Indulge in a lil’ Houston Rockets.

Maybe a quick get away. 

Hoping them Louisiana slots would line her pockets.

I remember us picking berries down the road on the side.

Back to the house to make jam while jammin’ a lil’ Charley Pride.

I hang out with my memories whenever the chance I get.

They quite often smell like coffee & the stale smoke of cigarettes.

Contrary to typical thought, I do occasionally visit my seeds.

More than I realize, I frequently follow her lead.

She started with a diet of motivation & strength.

Determination and a crucial work ethic followed through at great lengths.

Her 84^th sunset quietly closed.  A very full life down to a trickle.

It looked like great grandsons and tasted like Banana Popcicles.