The “Feist” in Granny
By Nan Potts
My Granny was pugnacious,
Full of life and canny, too.
Troublesome at times, was she,
But always loved us two.
An animated creature,
Whose past paints in artists’ hues.
Though colorful she had been,
To me, t’was not new news.
Gobs of mysteries entwined her,
Dark rumors our folks did tell.
Sharp gasps from all the grownups
Intensified their spell.
As kids, we used soft whispers,
Quietly behind her back.
Wondering who, what or when
Put “feist” in Granny’s sack?
Much baggage she surely bore,
To invigorate her so.
And we, precocious kids, dreamt,
While electrified to know!
The day before her passing,
A brave question I did ask,
“Why do they call you feisty?”
I, in her sass, could bask.
“Child, if you grow to my age,
Life’s adventures show you much,
You’ll find there is one chapter
That you had dared to touch.
Of the loves I’ve won and lost,
Of the glories and times bleak,
The one most inspiring —
Kids’ honesty to speak.”
Upon these words her breath ceased,
She departed quietly.
These I pondered scores of years,
And did so, piously.
Then, when my young son asked me,
“Mom, are you a ‘feisty queen’?”
I thought of what Granny said,
Had I opt her demean?
Gran, was not dispirited,
Nor she lifeless or morose —
Was blessed with the spark of life,
And shaped me, operose.