Grandmother Persimmon Tree

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Grandmother Persimmon Tree

I didn’t idolize grandmother. She was just there:
food, battered antiques,
her “right now! Sonny, time to eat.”–
What did I know! I was a scribbler in a persimmon tree.

Why look back?! I learned love late.
Glimpsed at best. I can’t believe
it isn’t still the afternoon.
Summer went with Fall; that’s all!

What’s left?
some tattered clothes, some tricks
she’d use to make me laugh. Regret comes down to this,
gnashed teeth in a silent room.

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