In order to view this poem with the line breaks the author intended, we suggest reading it on a computer screen or in the landscape orientation on your phone or tablet.

Grandma Enema
Paul Willis

My Grandma Emma spoke better German
than English. She made custard
and let us play jacks on her kitchen floor
in Anaheim. We called her Grandma Enema
because that is what she prescribed
for anything that ailed us,
and we feared that rubber hose
in her bathroom, that warm water
in strange places. In college or a bit after
we planned a climb of Mt. McKinley,
with nine men and just one woman
as members of the expedition.
Grandma Enema was suspicious.
”What do you need that woman for?”
she would ask. “What’s she going to do?”
Nothing we said could put her at ease
until, one day, my brother replied,
”She’s a nurse, Grandma. If we get sick,
she will give us our enemas.”
”Of course,” she said, her face melting
in satisfaction. A moment later,
though, she was frowning again.
”But up there on the mountain,”
she said, “the water would freeze!”
That Grandma Enema. She always
looked out for us, in the end.

—
Paul Willis has published seven poetry collections, the most recent of which is Somewhere to Follow (Slant Books, 2021). Individual poems have appeared in Poetry, Ascent, Christian Century, and the Best American Poetry series. He is a professor of English at Westmont College in Santa Barbara, California.

Know anyone who might appreciate reading Paul’s poem?
Why not share the link to this page?

Have you read these poems:
Too Cold a Morning to Ask a Dumb Question by Kenneth David White
Planetarium of Love by Joh Surowiecki

Table of Contents