Grandma Was a Nurse

I’m going to school to be a nurse
so that I can learn
to make a solid bed.

I can’t wait to learn how to make a bed,
with hospital corners so stiff.
Because within containment
lives comfort.

Grandma was a nurse.
And she makes a solid bed.
So tight,
your toes bend over
and you can’t even wiggle.

She would tuck me in at night
and sing, “Yankee Doodle”
or “You Are My Sunshine.”

And in the morning,
bright and beautiful –
She would wake me up singing,
Irving Berlin,
“Oh, How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning!”

At Grandma’s house,
I would wriggle out of bed
and run downstairs,
and play in the backyard.

I would run around the grass,
throwing batons and balls.
And I would fall down,
and get a scrape.

I ran in reassured,
because Grandma was a nurse.
And there was no booboo she couldn’t fix.

With a wash,
and a kiss,
and a band-aid –
I was a patient ready for discharge.

Now I am a student,
and I am gonna learn how to make beds.
And give comfort.
And fix booboos.

My grandma is still a nurse.
When my booboo is sadness,
she cures it.
When it is anger,
she allows it to be
before she treats.

My grandma is the best nurse alive.
I learn to be a nurse from school.
I will learn to make a great bed.

But mostly I am Grandma’s student.
From her I learn compassion.
From her,
I learn love.

I would not want to learn
the core of nursing from anybody else.
I have the greatest teacher:
my Grandma.



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