painting by numbers

my grandmother
when she would visit us
from boston,
while my mother lay in a hospital
having another baby,
would buy us paint by numbers
kits
to keeps us quiet.
geese flying
over swamps, churches,
that sort of thing.
oil paints
with thinners
and linseed oils,
brushes, rags.
it's a wonder we didn't
set the house on
fire as she hung
over our work with a
Winston
hanging from her lips.
I hate those kennedys
she always managed to
fit into a conversation,
which wasn't really
a conversation, it was
just her talking,
staring at the tv
and yelling at us to keep
the paint between
the lines.
later, after the paintings
had dried
she would line them up
on a window sill
to see who had done
the best job, giving that child,
my older brother
who had my father's name,
a dollar and the rest
of us nothing.