The Sunday Poem: Grandmother is Forgetting
Some comfort lies in knowing
A treeโs inner core gilds a human wall,
And no one pays it mind โ
I stared into her faded eyes, while willing
Into being a look not a reflection
Of my own. Her bones have been
Unlearning youth for years,
And dry rot clenches whispery hands
Around her veins. She feels oblivion,
Perhaps, and rooted fears to die โ
And worse, the fear of being furnishing
For a mournerโs heart, a comfortable
Seat for sadness on display, a grief
Unlearned, replaced, reborn, beveled
By the familiar gaze of children wishing
For knowledge, continuation, and belief.
I pay her mind, in hopes that one will do
The same for me โ ring me, round me, learn
And ground me, make me theirs, and never burn
The grains that build me, where they gild me
through and through.
