(Ellen Joe: August 6, 1917 — March 3, 1999)
Tuesday, March 3, 2020
Now, this here’s my Grandma’—and she ain’t fuck around. I could probably write a book on who all she slapped in town.
To me it’s all stories…. for me she expressed her GOD given glory. Birthing 13 hard heads, a few seeds still soft with modern day’s worry.
She’d let me ride to the airport from her house, feeding me a syrup drenched plate of breakfast before riding out.
I can still taste the eggs, bacon, sausage, and soggy toast in my mouth. Riding up yonder today to figure her shout.
“I’ll kill ya’, I’ll kill ya’…” you know who you are. Don’t be ashamed it’s tough love and a new day to set the bar.
Higher now up yonder because her dreams grew fonder. Over each hilltop to forever look over the crops she pondered.
Be you—a Joe not a foe.
Be you—crazy if you ain’t know.
Be true—don’t lie you cheap foo’…
Be true—remember each lie’s in vain.
In truth, the comforts in knowing we’re all insane.
She’d say, “….a hard head makes a soft ass.” If so, why be soft for another man’s cash?
Make a hard decision for the faith’s in making it last. Think about your past. You’ve made it far with doubt in your stash.
Dear Grandma’, I’ll meet you up yonder and remain the beast behind this mask.