Iron

Grandma says
she says put the
butter on like this
sizzle goes the waffle
iron. Pour the batter
she says, I lift
the green jug
watch white batter like
thick cream hit
metal peaks, fill
valleys, spill over.
Close the lid, she says
steam rises hiss
bubbles peek, dressed in batter

wait, says grandma
then her blue-veined hand
with my small freckled one
join at the handle, lift together.
Take the fork like this
she says, we pierce
crisp waffle skin,

grant my plate its patient reward.
How gray your eyes are, grandma
I say, then
her forearm roped with muscle
lifts her soft hand
to smooth my hair

Yes, she says
they are gray like metal and
inside I am strong
and inside you are strong
like iron.