I am inclined to think fairy godmothers are not a mere myth but living reality. For one, grandmothers carry all the qualities of suitable candidates of the demanding job of making wishes come true. As a wee child, I believed my grandmother had an invisible wand and possessed supernatural powers only those with the title of Grand Mother were entitled to. She could fix almost any clothing item and in cases where an item was “beyond repair”, she found a way of metamorphosing a pair of trousers into a skirt. Once a shirt magically transformed into a pair of shorts with the breast pocket somehow perfectly positioned as the back pocket. Then there were multicolored patchwork blankets and mats that resembled an atlas…in short, nothing ever went to waste, nothing was ever beyond redemption. She also had a way of turning foodstuffs into pharmaceuticals and the random into remedies for one ailment or another.


In my grandmother’s house was a gourd of dreams

Desirous of the rainbow, it soared beyond beams

Oblivious to a world that was fertile breeding ground

To traps by which some would remain forever bound

Dreams to a young heart paid for in full by currency faith

With nothing to lose, giving up the only price to be paid


On my grandmother’s dress were precious blueprints

Maps to treasures concealed in vaults only fit for kings

Numerous secret codes brewed in peanut laden dishes

Solely interpretable by words unsaid to unlock vast riches

In the heart of the believer, a secret garden nurturing hope

Weeds of countless breeds yet the seed of optimism did cope


On my grandmother’s face were lines of life

Where stories were traceable, of victories and strife

In deep gorges and grooves lived pearls of wisdom

Vagabonds could bargain and trade rag for chiefdom

Keen eyes, sight refined with age and seasoned by time

Foretelling the clock, deciphering tick and chime


In my grandmother’s crafty hands we were raised

Molded into vessels by tasks would not be phased

Lullabies were as charms to awaken the phoenix

Turned myths into legends far beyond the sphinx

Fingers crafting masterpieces from ordinary things

Clearly resounding, the memory of yesteryear rings

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