My Granny Named Smith

by Izabella Pollett

Dec 2, 2020 – 1 min read

A painted green apple on a white background.

What is the date?

What is the time?

Why not sooner?

I ask.

She says only in Fall, never in the summer

I ask.

She says only in the Fall, never in the spring

I ask.

She says only in the Fall, maybe in the winter

She’ll be comin’ round the mountain, 

she’ll be comin’ round the mountain

Why doesn’t Granny come visit sooner?

Granny is the sweetest of the sour bunch

Hansel and Gretel don’t come close to understanding

Her flesh so white and crisp it snaps in the cold

Snapping, crunching, munching

Granny is grass green cut

Falling like a sickening shipmate

She is likely sick from her yearly descent

She doesn’t turn another shade

Consistent in her opinion, though not always favored

Is it time?

She gets cranky, getting cold, numbing neck

No cracking or snapping

Her skin still intact

Is Granny ready?

Sept, 22…

Can’t wait any longer

I’m eating Granny now!