Not Grandma

By John I. Blair

We’d been told
That she was Grandma,
The lady in the photo
With the heavy curls,
Prim lips, bold beak
And too much jewelry,

Right hand posed
Beside her cheek,
Displaying both a bangle
And a ring in case the locket
And the yard of beads
Did not suffice.

We don’t know who she is,
For Grandma
Had a stubby nose,
Kept her hair rolled in a bun,
Thought jewelry
A folly for the weak.

After five times twenty years
There’s no one left to say
How this impostor
Stole into our album,
Maybe seeking something
More than silver, more than gold.

©2009 John I. Blair