It's Still Life

A Crooked Hole

My world-wise old grandmother
poked a crooked hole in the clouds,
planted runner beans in the ground.
First they grew up skinny lattices,
then through the woodshed eaves,
then up they ran, escaped this world
up in the sky. And my grandmother
stood there, watching, and rolling
tobacco paper between her fingers.

written for Sunday Whirl #284
words: first crooked hole sky plant first wise eaves tobacco grandmother worldx2