My Grandmother Is Waiting for Me to Come Home By Gwendolyn Brooks We live with walnuts and apples in a one-room kitchenette above The Some Day Liquor Gardens. My Grandmother sits in a red rocking chair waiting for me to open the door with my key. She is Black and glossy like coal. We eat walnuts and apples, drink root beer in cups that are broken, above The I love my Grandmother. She is wonderful to behold with the glossy of her coal-colored skin. She is warm wide and long. She laughs and she Lingers. My Grandmother Is Waiting for Me to Come Home By Gwendolyn Brooks My Grandmother is waiting for me to come home. We live with walnuts and apples in a one-room kitchenette above The Some Day Liquor Gardens. My Grandmother sits in a red rocking chair waiting for me to open the door with my key. She is Black and glossy like coal. We eat walnuts and apples, drink root beer in cups that are broken, above The I love my Grandmother. She is wonderful to behold with the glossy of her coal-colored skin. She is warm wide and long. She laughs and she Lingers.