It wasn’t until I heard

A tape of my Grandma Lillian’s voice

That I recognized her British accent.

I never thought of her

As a foreigner

My second parent

After my father puffed away

When I was thirteen.

Lillian was my shield

When I felt like a foreigner

From school monsters

her fleshy arms held my bones,

Her apple strudel

With nuts gave my stomach

A whizz bang.

And when I complain

About my 7,500-step goal

Lillian haunts me with her

Strident walking

Despite her oversized

Corn and calluses

On her big toes.

I no longer feel foreign.