My Grandma who art in Bradford

Water rhymes with batter,

Cook rhymes with duke

Your pantry is a cathedral

Of desiccation and sprinkles

We call the glory ‘ole.

Your wisdom is linguistic joy.

You’re not forced to know the answer.

In hope there’s two chances.

Not many T’s in your language.

When I’m with you I talk like you,

My grandma.

More a ma to me,

Teaching me,

Clothing me,

Tough on me,

Helpfully,

Constant. Strong. Brave.

Vulnerable. Needed.

Life of ‘ard graft.

A mill worker, factory worker.

Asthma, smoker.

Nothing spicy.

Cheese and crackers our shared joy.

Fish and chips every Friday.

The odd lasagne will pass your lips.

I force my love on you.

I hug you don’t hug back.

But I know you adore me.

You are cruel if I don’t ring.

You want me to need you.

I do. Grandma I do.

More than you could know.

© Jennifer Wilson

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