Home > Imprisonment > A Blizzard for Grandma

A Blizzard for Grandma

August 17, 2011

by Lynnel Jones

I watch your snow-white
camouflage, the mechanized rise
and fall of your breath,

a skinny tube up your nose,
another pegged to your middle,
the third draining

a catch of amazing topaz.
I remember you wanting to die
in Pool, in your house,

just yourself and your stuff, intact.
I imagine for you real
snow, a killing

dose, like the one in ’40 —
surprising scores of hunters,
dead quickly

from cold and lack of care.

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Lynnel Jones’s poetry is steeped in the joys and struggles of Minnesota’s immigrant mining community and the lives of the people of rural southern Virginia and Pennsylvania’s Pocono Mountains. A people-watcher since childhood, above all she aspires to write poems accessible to the ordinary folks she writes about — and to do that with sensitivity, originality and gratitude.

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  1. Karen Stromberg
    August 17, 2011 at 6:34 pm

    I love these lines
    “. . . yourself and your stuff, intact,”
    “from cold and lack of care.”

    Such a blessing when that happens.

  2. August 18, 2011 at 4:18 am

    cold and hurting
    in the right doses

  3. Lynnel Jones
    August 18, 2011 at 10:54 am

    Thanks for your comments – these last days of life are so often more difficult than they need be because our survivors are unclear about thier own wishes or not courageous enough to make the decisons they know in their hearts we would make – if we could.

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