West Frankfurt

I am eleven riding in Dad’s car
Too big to be a boy but
Not yet a teenager,
I am in the front
Seat between
My Dad and
My delicate
Grandma
Who is
Tough
As
Nails.
The car
Is full of stuff
We are taking to
Grandma’s house
In West Frankfurt in
Southern Illinois which
Is southern in culture where
We fry everything though it
Is north of Ohio River.
Our accents are you’uns
And we’uns from our
Appalachian forebears.
It is dark night as we drive
And I nod off with my head
And on Grandma’s shoulder,
I wake a moment to find my
Head on Grandma’s lap.
My father tells me to sit up
But Grandma puts her hand
On my head and says go
To sleep so I nod off again.
We arrive at her house and
I help unload the carload
Of stuff proud of my strength.
I am in between boyhood and
Being a man at thirteen,
I have been behind as
A small boy but have
Shot up in height
And ahead in
Maturity of
Mind.
My Grandma
Puts her hand on
My broad shoulder
And smiles at me shining
Her approval of my unloading
As I smile back.
I am one of
These
Folks,
Proud of
Who and
What we are.
I am never far
In my heart from
My family in
Southern
Illinois.