Swoosh of my grandmother’s small,
socked feet across the oaken floor
as she attempts
not to wake me lying on the sofa
pretending sleep,
dawn light combing through her mussed
salt-and-pepper curls,
faded blue cotton nightgown flowing
like the tide as she quickly slips outside
to retrieve the newspaper from the stoop.
Grandma reads the horoscope first
so she knows which shoes to wear,
how lightly to step into the day.
Lana Hechtman Ayers has shepherded over eighty poetry volumes into print in her role as managing editor for three small presses. Her work appears in print and online in places such as Rattle, Snake Nation Review, and The MacGuffin. Visit her online at LanaAyers.com.
