My grandmother was a worrier
(Or, some would say, a prayer warrior)
She fretted all the time
(probably from womb to Easter tomb)
Her immigrant family worked hard
At menial jobs for which they were hired.
They moved up the social ladder.
Education, honesty, and faith would lead her
To a comfortable American life.
You would think she turned over a new leaf!
But she worried and worried and worried,
Though her faith in God never wearied
This is my submission for the W3 challenge this week — brought by the host with the most, David himself.
Here’s the challenge: Write a poem using pararhyme throughout—where consonant sounds match but the vowels shift (e.g., fill / fell, stone / stain). Let this half-matching quality reflect a theme of incompleteness, near-misses, or strained connection.
Can I say that it’s not even a near miss to be a worrier and a person of faith?! The two stand in stark contradiction to each other, and yet, that was my grandmother.