sanctuary
Granny grinned, though her hands ached from shelling
peas were the only constant in this house.
Little me watched her crooked fingers snap
each pod in two as she sat on her porch,
built by her husband in the back of
their double-wide was as good as any home
to me. Cornbread cooked on the stove while
Pop Pop napped on the couch with a beer
resting in one hand and the Bible
resting in the other. He’d tap his foot
to the overheard humming of hymns, as
Granny sang “Pass me not oh gentle Savior”.
Her smile, masking a pain ancient as Proverbs,
whispering to me Hidden, is a Holy thing
Author: Maya price
Maya Price is an undergraduate student at Columbus State University.
