My small grandmother is tall there, straight-back, white broderie anglaise shirt, pleated skirt, flat shoes, grey bun, a kind, old smile round her eyes. Her big hand holds mine, white hand in black hand. Her sharp blue eyes look her own death in the eye. It was true after all; that look. My tall grandmother became small. Her back round and hunched. Her soup forgot to boil. She went to the awful place grandmothers go. Somewhere unknown, unthinkable. But there she is still, in the photo with me at three, the crinkled smile is still living, breathing. Jackie Kay Synopsis The poem talks about the persona's photograph of her grandmother. The persona describes the grandmother as being tall and who dressed up prim and proper. She had a kind smile and did not fear death. As she aged, Grandmother became hunched and forgetful. She has passed away but the persona still feels her presence as she looks at the photograph