NaPoWriMo - Day 6. "Snowball Summers" flower poem

Hydrangea Free Stock Photo - Public Domain Pictures

Snowball Summers  

I called my grandmother
Mother -because she had
been too young to be a
grandmother - (though
later my own mother re-
vealed that she reviled
the rejection) -Mother's
hair was ebon pincurled
and at forty two she was
without qualm - setting
me, tiny granddaughter
free, alone - scrunching
in the wet perfume of her
snowball bushes- lush-
in that park of her back
yard - in that cool leafy
filagree-light darkness -
mystic wishes worthy
of any silvered grand-
mother floated all day
on hot summer breezes