Every little boy should have a
Granny’s Blanket.
Made from the dresses
she wore in the kitchen
on a warm summer’s day
with the house smellin’ like
- fresh potato peelings,
- hot creamed squash
and a rabbit on the stove
thanks to Grandaddy’s strong,
time whittled hands.
Every little boy should have a
Granny’s Blanket -
of the dresses Granny wore
when she sat in the living room,
watching two merrily oblivious
grandchildren prancing around,
and begging for a tall glass of
Granny’s sweet tea.
Every little boy should have a
Granny’s Blanket.
Made by a quiet mother,
with each tattered dress
stitched together
to keep a little boy warm
- when the December fever strikes.
- To bury down in and close his eyes
and hear Grandaddy’s supper prayer
playing back in the fondest memories
of a Virginia Blue Ridge Mountain summer
- with wild blackberry juice
staining the whole Americana scene
a rich violet hue,
- like some holy Renaissance church
as the sun pours past the
bifurcated colours of the windows
telling the story
Of how Uncle John was chased
round the barn for breaking the 3rd commandment.
How the littlest girl,
Daddy’s piano playing angel
was born on the farm in the
middle of a February blizzard.
How the oldest boy ran off to fight the German evil,
coming back with a Purple Heart
and silent nightmares for the rest of his days -
and all of the Old South stories
full of soldiers,
preachers,
and farmers.
Every little boy should have a
Granny’s Blanket
to remind him
when he’s so far from home
- of those beautiful times
when innocence was taken for granted.
