Grandma by Amanda Talbot

The first rain of March dripped
down the grey city like sticky tangerine
juice. This is a sign—
she should be getting better.
But instead, we perch around her drinking chair
and watch her shrink and compress
into a dried bouquet of lavender
and yellow grass and one lonely Christmas rose.
She’s supposed to be getting better.
Her body is supposed to be sponging up those tangerines
that we peeled in desperation.

Rain is supposed to mean lakes
with healthy algae and fleshy fish.



Amanda Talbot
Amanda Talbot is a 17-year-old student at Pittsburgh Creative and Performing Arts School. Her poems "Stitches" and "Sister" have been published in the annual anthology from Ralph Munn Creative Writing Contest. Her poem "The Restroom" has been published on Her essay "Grandmothers Have Favorites" won a third place award in the Carnegie Mellon University Martin Luther King Jr. Day Writing Contest. Her short story "Safety in Trees" received a Gold Key Award from Scholastic Writing Contest. She enjoys knitting, crocheting, and rowing with her crew team. She has taught herself Spanish, and her next project will be to master Russian.


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