Anastasia

Anastasia

I know you turn and twist in your grave grandma,
I hear the rattle as you clench your first&;#8230;
in the creak of my old wooden bed
the beat of your palm
in the low tone of the xylophone
your coldness in the morning chill
wafting between my sheets in the wee&;#8230;
my desire the embers of a dying fire

you are angry
that I will not give you a grand son grandma,
your temper a whip
the clap of thunder in the rainless storm&;#8230;
the anger in her eyes each time
the bed is unmade in the morning
the waiver in her voice
when I forget to wash my plate after supper

She answers my call by name grandma,
greets you daughter standing upright&;#8230;
like an electric pole
her hair like the mane of a lion,
graces the food she serves like a witch's broom&;#8230;
she tells me am backward
when I laugh at her pencil like legs in a man's shorts

I have not forgotten to be a man grandma !
she doesn't know to be a woman...
to wake up in the wee
and make my breakfast
to polish my shoes that they shine
and to push my car
when it refuses to start before I go to work

I see your beacon grandma
a twinkle in the clear dark
a whisper in the breeze
a ripple in the well
a silence that speaks
i will not marry Anastasia grandma

Ndiwalana Fredrick