Sweet Potato Pie. Macaroni and Cheese. ELM trees.

She makes me sweet potato pies and macaroni and cheese just like my great grand and grand. She twists my locks, and listens to my stupid stories. Even allows me to complain, at least once a day. She smiles at my weak attempt at jokes. Has a punch line for my every mess up. It makes me laugh. Inside. She forgives me most days. Every once in a while she will tell me a story and allow me the privilege of listening. She does so infrequently. I think she does it just to make sure my ears are functioning properly. She's strong. Almost as strong as my grand and my great grand. She shares my mother's sun sign. Her penny colored skin reminds me of summer's spent washing a 1979 Black Cutlass Supreme, drinking Tang, watching cartoons, and playing kick the can in the streets until dark. Her smile reminds me of the joy I felt after coming home and finding a professionally assembled basketball goal in my backyard for my 12th birthday. Just like the one in the school yard complete with a halogen lamp that was bright as the street lights. Her laughter the happiness I felt every night afterward, playing well into the late of day or when I was called inside. Her presence. Constant reminders of my village, and that there is proof. It's thru simplicity that she reminds me that it's okay to live a little each and every day. That I can trust again.