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Walt McDonald

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Granny Hedy and the God called Fine

Drought would break on Hedy's ranch.
The high school teams would win,
the cost of feed go down.  When neighbours
warned the railroad spur might close,

Grandmother Hedy scoffed, Don't bother,
steers like riding in trucks to Dallas,
and drivers always need work.  Fine
should have been her brand.  It's fine.

Granny worked like a man after Granddaddy died.
Hand her a lancet, she'd fix a canker
or abscess, just hold the horse hoof up
or pry the cow's mouth wide.  If the cow died

it would have died someday - Move'em out,
aIfaIfa's ready.  She worshipped the god
called If - God's will, if it rained,
if the stock market rallied, the foreman's dog

came back.  She spoiled my sister and me
as toddlers, rocked us and made us call her
Hedy, not Grandmother.  She tucked herself
into bigger bras and let her Levis out,

the better to hug us.  She had no end
of grandchildren when we weren't there, waifs
from the church who rode her ponies on Sundays.
Once, when we hugged her hard, she winced,
 
then laughed to show it's all right,
soft belly jiggling.  When her foreman
hinted about doctors, that fire in the belly,
Hedy said, It's fine. The night he rushed her

to the clinic, out in the hall on a gurney,
Granny said, Don't bother calling my daughters
in Dallas and Montana, they'd only worry,
and I'm fine, I'll be home tonight.

 

Walt McDonald has been a US Air Force pilot and is Texas Poet Laureate for 2001.  His most recent collection is All Occasions (University of Notre Dame Press 2000).

Page(s) 42

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