Nana's Aura

A rural scenery of cornfields

in the window, where the vapor

fled, was behind her tender head

full of fine, straight gray hairs.

——

Nana’s attire was vintage

and smelt of home with a hint

of lavender and spice.

She was the kindest, most frugal.

——

Wore a gown for many years

that never got dingy.

The pale blue garment glowed as her

lustrous eyes were never stale

as she told the origin of

her family's tales.

——

A reused menthol between two fingers.

An old brown radio was playing jazz.

While she was singing, her diaphragm

began expanding, and then she blew out

smoke that coiled rather undemanding.

——

A mind sharp enough to slide down

the slippery slopes but land on

level snow, shall never be forgotten.

With hands sleek as clay, Nana’s touch

was ethereal and silk cotton.

Her aura alone could spoil a child rotten.

*Author’s Note: This poem was written for Vocal’s “Smooth” challenge. Thank you for reading. 🩵