Here's another one for my Grandmother, one of the few poems I wrote with a smile on my face. She took more pictures of my sister and me when we were children than anyone else -- unfortunately, she was also the worst photographer.
Still, the photographs she took always manage to make me grin.
Grandmother's Masterpiece
I just can't help but smile
at this poorly centered snapshot;
you really couldn't take
a decent picture.
Summer sun beat down
upon our brown impromptu crowns,
two rolled-up paper sacks
a bit askew atop our heads.
Dimpled knees peeked out
from hems of homemade cotton gowns
as we posed, our arms akimbo,
by your net-strewn berry patch.
Bright red sticky smears
on both our fingers and our lips
tell the tale of little girls
who ate as many as we picked.
Your slender shadow sneaked
into the lower right-hand corner
and for once I'm very pleased
to see your total lack of skill.
Whether it was shaky hands
or faulty composition,
you managed to create
our family portrait.
© 2004 Robin L. Rotham
