Whoosh

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whoosh  by Nancy Schatz Alton

I am the swoosh of the square that shifts with the sway of my hips in my Grandma’s kitchen.

Noodles hang from her ceiling.

She over-seasons my cereal with sugar.

She is sweet with swearing, short and she means it,

“Here! You need more sugar.”

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