Three women,
Grama Bunny, educated, talented.
A master’s from Berkeley during the Depression
And a hand that could draw the world,
Even after a stroke struck.
Grama Haston, tiny, bustling,
The farm wife who hated the farm
But peeled ten pounds of potatoes for my breakfast.
Momma, teenage wife and mother,
Wrestling four kids into submission
While waiting for my father’s attention.
Three women.
There are more.
They are more.
But these three women made me.