Wild rice and chicken,
She cooked wild rice and chicken to stick to our bones and soothe our souls.
Her voice couldn’t speak beautiful words, but she could serve love on a decorative glass plate with a roll, green beans, and whipped potatoes.
She couldn’t paint us elaborate scenes of her trips to Holland and Paris, but she could say “Hello” in such a singsong voice that you wanted the MP3.
She kept her home shining.
Her roses bright.
Her grass trim and green.
Her clothes neat.
Her eyes on Him.
Her pocketbook open for charity on the undeserving, myself included.
She was a giant…on whose shoulders I stand.