Scent of fresh peaches boiling in
sugar
water woke me from well intentioned
nap.
She leaned over the bassinet, her back to
me.
Familiar blue dress, red scarf, neat white
bun.
Time creased hand stroked soft
cheek.
My grandmother crooned over my
firstborn.
No matter she was fourteen years
dead.
This seems right for All Saints Day (and yes I know Jews don't celebrate All Saints Day but what the heck?) Some possibilities seem to cross traditions. Anyway, this one is for Poets United Poetry Pantry
This is so lovely, Victoria..........I have such tender memories of my own grandma so this really resonates with me. You picture her so clearly I can see her.
ReplyDeleteThank you Sherry.
DeleteStill sad.....
ReplyDeletein the moment when it happened it seemed more sweet than sad.
Delete.
This is lovely and haunting.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
DeleteEerie and wonderful. I think they never leave us.
ReplyDeleteThanks for visiting.
Thank you, and on some level I agree.
ReplyDelete