She hoped to be the exotic grandmother, the artistic one, the writer, the performer. She was, after all, step, not blood. But she misjudged the viscosity of blood, like sludge, that glued them to the others in whom they recognized themselves. To them, she was not exotic, not even their grandmother, just their grampy's weird wife.
Pat Sturm reads, writes, and gardens in Western Oklahoma. Her poems have appeared online in GreenPrints #77; Frostwriting Journal (Sweden); and Sugar Mule. Also in travelin' music and Elegant Rage, both poetic tributes to Woody Guthrie.