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.
The first four lines described the grandmother's physical appearance.
Her big hand holds mine,
white hand in black hand.
White hand represents the poet's youth, purity, and innocence.
Black hand represents that the grandmother is experienced, an old soul, and has been through a lot, yknow, since she's old.
Her sharp blue eyes look her own death in the eye.
The grandmother is dying.
(again, duh, kinda obvious isn't it)
It was true after all; that look.
My tall grandmother became small.
Her back round and hunched.
The grandmother's physical appearance went she was in the jaws of death.
Her soup forgot to boil.
The grandmother is too ill, she could no longer take care of herself.
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.
The poet's memory of her grandmother is still fresh and new.
Hope I helped.