Two poems about grandmothers

my grandmother 
doesn’t know pain 
she believes that 
famine is nutrition 
poverty is wealth 
thirst is water
her body like a grapevine winding around a walking stick 
her hair bees’ wings 
she swallows the sun-speckles of pills 
and calls the internet the telephone to america
her heart has turned into a rose the only thing you can do 
is smell it 
pressing yourself to her chest 
there’s nothing else you can do with it 
only a rose
her arms like stork’s legs 
red sticks 
and i am on my knees 
howling like a wolf 
at the white moon of your skull 
grandmother 
i’m telling you it’s not pain 
just the embrace of a very strong god 
one with an unshaven cheek that prickles when he kisses you.                                                                                                              -Grandmother by valzhyna mort  (Belarusian poet. This is a translation) 

Here I am in the garden laughing
an old woman with heavy breasts
and a nicely mapped face

how did this happen
well that's who I wanted to be

at last a woman
in the old style sitting
stout thighs apart under
a big skirt grandchild sliding
on off my lap a pleasant
summer perspiration

that's my old man across the yard
he's talking to the meter reader
he's telling him the world's sad story
how electricity is oil or uranium
and so forth I tell my grandson
run over to your grandpa ask him
to sit beside me for a minute I
am suddenly exhausted by my desire
to kiss his sweet explaining lips. -Here by Grace Paley