The Living Photograph -Form 4 & 5

The Living Photograph

My small grandmother is tall there,
straight-back, white broderie anglaise shirt,
pleated skirt, flat shoes, grey un,
a kind, old smile round her eye.
Her big hand holds mine,
white hand in black hand.
Her sharp blue eyes look her own death in the eye.

It was true after all;that look.
My tall grandmother became samll.
Her back round and haunched.
Her soup forgot to boil.
She went to awful place grandmothers go.
Somewhere unknown, unthinkable.

But there she is still,
in the photo with me at three,
the crinkled smile is still living, breathing.

-Jackie Kay



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