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


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.

© Jennifer Winterburn


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