Granny Ruthie

The cock roaches in my house are under your spell
All scurrying beneath the green beer bottles
Piled up in corners with Kleenexes
Yellowed stiff with time

This boy
A sweet sixteen
Out hunting one cold
Winter's day when out of
The East sprang up this breeze
Two large blackbirds settling down
On the branches of some tall pine trees
High above the stone of grandfather’s grave

Your grandson below in the snow aimed his gun
And shot! Suddenly the world stopped
Turning as those two big birds
Tumbled down through
The needles and
Leaves

Grandmother made us a black bird pie out of them
Feeding Ruthie and Jim each a breast on
Easter Sunday while grandfather
Sat delirious with syphilis

On the couch next to Granny who wore
Their wings in her ice blue hair