From The Attic (poetry)

Grandma

My grandmother tells anyone that who can listen about the olden days, when Mandela was imprisoned and black people were oppressed.

She tells anyone who can listen about
The time the police came and threw them out of their home. Every time she tells that story, tears drop from her eyes like autumn leaves for she lost more than a broken mug on that day.

Black man in a terrible world, fighting to protect his family, fighting to be the man of the house. I wish I had met him. Those who were there say, a bullet tore through his heart, instantly cutting bloodflow and leading to loss of life.

My grandma is supposed to be made of iron and stone
Strong to no end for her dark complexion
Tells them she doesn't feel a thing
Tells them her ancestors suffered worse
But I like to remind them that underneath all that
Grandma is made of flesh and blood
Like any other human her heart is made of
Muscular organ and for it to keep beating
They need to know grandma breaks too