Sandra Kolankiewicz’ poems have appeared widely, most recently in Adelaide, London Magazine, New World Writing and Appalachian Heritage.
My Grandmother’s Glasses
My eye glasses have become just like my
grandmother’s horn-rimmed ones appeared: smudged and
streaked, covered with more dust than I ever
thought possible. When I visited her
little kitchen, I would remove them from
her small face to wash them in a trickle
of hot water, soaping up the lenses,
rinsing, handing the frames back over to
her dry and sparkling in the light. I plucked
the chin hairs she could not see, made sure the
railings on her front steps held fast. Now, I
wander the house in a bathrobe with a
screwdriver in the pocket, fixing things,
a wadded tissue in my hand, all the
grocery store orchids I received from
so many birthdays blooming like mad once
I learned how to treat them. I know where I’m
headed as I make the rounds. None there can
do what I’m enjoying here: a fresh cup of
coffee with cream and half a teaspoon of
sugar, my old man snoring in the bed
upstairs, children home for the holidays.