She's now gone home,
smile lighting up the clouds as she went I'm sure;
over-weight, in her double-wide on wheels;
hundreds of mourners
all in white
Louisiana style
singing
"Oh where joy abounds."

She wanted it that way.

They didn't put her in the hearse at first
they just rolled her down our street
and through the neighborhood
so any and all could pay their respects;
besides most didn't have cars for the funeral ride
they just opened their windows and waved her on
"Bye Lulu. God's gonna get a good one back."

Strong as the human will, she fed the relatives every Sunday;
supper at noon, hot biscuits and syrup, spaghetti cauldron-
enough for thirty- where she'd hand out the encouragement,
the admonishments and the love,
that big hand of hers in the family dike;

eyes of a leather eagle, heart of velvet stone,
arms full of "chilings" at her ample bosom
making Sunday Order for diners who sometimes had a week
of hurt, pain and disorder.
Come to grandma's house and all that parked at the door
with her eggs and bacon and her love.

Made the comforts of home for family and strangers, took them in her arms and cut their Chain of Sorrows and made it alright.

Lit her Sunday candle, said Grace, heads bowed and she would circulate
talking to and touching each one.

Granddad, handed out bus and carfare
and made that week better for many
who left with brown bags of food and ration stamps.

So when her Big Brown Chariot rolled down the street
that Sunday noon
everybody knew
she'd be rising soon;
after all
Grandmas
could never die;
so we loaned her back to God
as long as he needed.