Samantha Pounder

My Grandma


We took a plane to get there,
Me, my sister, mom and dad.
We drove to my grandma’s house,
In the middle of a humid place,
With orange trees in the backyard.

We arrived in the midst of a rainy day,
And were confined to the boxlike house.
We bitched and we moaned,
‘Til the sun came out,
And then our cousins joined us.

As the sun shone on every inch of that
Rectangular plot of land,
Eight little brown children
Crept through the house,
And tiptoed ‘cross the lawn.

They settled on four patio chairs,
The eldest ones taking their thrones.
The littlest ones knew their place,
And gathered ‘round the elder’s knees-
Falling silent in respect.

Muhammed and Musa gave us the plan.
They said “you take her, and her, him.
She’ll go there, while you stay here.
She and she will guard the base,
And I’ll take the two littlest to keep them safe.”

Now let me tell you this all confused me.
I was an elder,
Privileged with a throne.
This title however did not grant knowledge,
And my age gave me no advantage.

I could offer no help as Muhammed and Musa balanced the teams.
No wise word as I was not familiar with this place as my cousins were.
I didn’t know which trees to use,
Which color meant hard,
and which meant soft.

I wasn’t familiar with ‘babysitting’.
I didn’t know the secret hiding spot.
I couldn’t tell you legal from illegal
All I knew was that any sight of an aunt, uncle, mom or dad,
Meant trouble.

It meant you had to run for cover.
It usually meant the game was up.
It gen’rally meant time to head in.
The hits were tallied,
Results awaited.

The only one we didn’t have to watch out for was Grandma,
Who would sit and watch us from her bedroom window.
The smile on her face showed her pride,
She loved to watch our emotions-
Our laughter.

“One, two, three, BREAK!”
The eldest commanded.
All eight of us scattered in different directions.
Crouching, crawling, creeping silently,
This was phase one of the game

Establish a place where no one could see you.
Collect ammo.
Pluck one, pluck two,
Pluck three, pluck four.
Build a pile a mile high.

Next it was phase two.
Gather those oranges up,
Transport them swiftly,
All the way to that designated spot -
However you could.

I ran as fast as my little legs could,
to that spot behind the rock.
I dumped my oranges down
And sat waiting for my cousins,
Who soon added their collection to the pile.

Then there was phase three: war.

“GO!” screamed Muhammed.
As soon as he uttered that single word,
All hell broke loose.
It was a wild, crazy-fun chaos
That took us over.

We hurled oranges
At every sign of movement.
I spied Muhammed stalking his prey
And I stopped him in his tracks,
With a direct hit to his back.

As he fell to the ground playfully,
I yelped with joy,
But to my horror he popped up a second later
Firing orange after orange in my direction,
Sending me running for cover.

Next Hasanah was struck down
In the middle of the battlefield.
Muhammed and Musa ran over
Sweeping her off to the patio -
The designated hospital.

Oranges flew -
Isa hit Jacqueline.
Hasanah hit Fatima.
Ebraham hit Musa
I hit Muhammed. 

Then we heard something.
It was underneath all those joyous yells,
That incessant laughter.
It was a voice calling..
“Dinnerrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!”

…We all froze.
The door opened.
We dropped to the ground.
“WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING?!?!...
GET IN THE HOUSE!”

All eight of us rose reluctantly,
And headed for the house.
I glanced at Grandma’s window,
She was laughing, a gentle grandmother’s laugh,
Full of pride.

Turning my head back to the seven others,
I joined in the argument of the rightful winner.
I was found.
Cold, wet, muddy and tired.
Having the time of my life.

We were laughing -
I was lost.
In the midst of this unfamiliarity,
I was with my family -
I was found.


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Copyright © 2002-2006 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose © 2002-2006 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. Contents photo from LHS Yearbook Staff. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.