Main T.o.C. Change Resist Ground Art

Lauren Reynolds Gramma Does Dancing Graphic by Denise Bobinski Gramma dances in on a wind of dogwood pollen and ash. Breeze between her cells, she flutters — in and out. Soft and screaming at the sky — all at once. Gramma wants to be my poem. Gramma wants to be Alaska. — strong and stable, unbroken with the passing seasons. Gramma does not want to be a wooden box, hollow and without holes. Gramma is flawed — gruff, with skin like rice paper. Sometimes gramma is gentle, but doesn’t suffer fools. Gramma helps the garden grow, finding comfort with the roses & the earth. There’s so much more to be, than alive. Gramma knew that. But in my dream I am dancing, pulling faces from the crowd. I twirl each body around by the hand, then stop and hold her close. She likes to transform empty bodies into her own. All of us, becoming her. Mom cried when they took her outside without a blanket. All the baggage leaks from the remains — plummeting in sides turned out. Smell to make you retch. Death is not a pretty thing. No, it is not dignified. But death is not gramma. Gramma is busy dancing on the breeze in the park. Gramma is sailing to Alaska. Gramma is lying in her bed — comforting the roses. She tells them, “this, this is only the beginning.”

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