Down but not out

The grandmother
like a golem
lies dormant under the bed,

awaits
the plaintive cries of her children's children

- themselves,
bright eyed and pink toed,
peering into the darkness:

a detritus of dog's hair, dust bunnies,
old skin cells
and dreams
unrealized -

"I need you, Grandma!"
her summons.

With the sound of a frozen tire,
mis-shapen and thumping over hard ground,
she rolls out

into the light

(as dog's claws clatter on hardwood floors,
scrabbling for purchase);

wide-eyed
and wild-haired,
she peers up at them

- lips pulled back revealing
gleaming gums and teeth, smiling
and not smiling -

exclaims,
voice indignant and abuzz,
"no son of mine will grow a beard!"

and
quickly spins
back towards the void

-but-

"wait, Grandma, wait!"
stops her dead

(in motion)

and pulling her towards
(her daughter's sons and daughters,
faces beaming)
the light,

what was gnarled inside her,
unknotted
rises.

There's life in this old girl, yet.