A faded cotton housedress

Hangs from her shoulders;

Brown knee-high panty hose

Fall around her spare ankles

In a pile of wrinkles,

Almost like frozen yogurt

As it swirls from the machine

As she moves around her house,

Her worn slippers pitter-pat

Against the wooden floor

Her egg-colored hair

Is pulled up into a loose bun

At the nape of her neck;

Strands fall as she moves about,

And play around her chin

As she speaks

Her eyes are huge

Against her hollow cheeks,

Drawn in sharply as if

She has just tasted

Something sour

We stare at her

Mouths agape

Until she smiles

“Y’all want some pecans?”