Poem for the Day: Grandmother & Granddaughter Poem

New Collection Soon to be Published by Sunline Press!

Grandmother & Granddaughter Poem

When my grandmother was frail,

not knowing it was cancer,

we’d sit in bed, facing each other;

two pillows at cornered walls, a toddy beside.

Gran would lift the lid of a brown suitcase, 

where apart from a silver wink in her eye,

she’d show fifty-percent of her life.

Nutmeg, cinnamon & ginger bartered in Malay stalls

at Paddy’s Markets, their spicy air arriving.

Tucked in newspaper: textiles, tablecloths, napkins,

slippers wedged together, a finery of nylon hose.

We’d go deeper & deeper, down into the suitcase,

Gran’s fingers tinkling glass buttons, pins, cotton reels.

Unpacking a day’s shopping, she’d lift my lips to sparkle

them candy-apple pink, round my cheeks with a light

touch of rouge; us mouthing ‘O’s’ like clowns in glass.

Gran just had her pills, so she prided herself with a new perm,

how her body warmed under a flannel shirt of her making.

Like those clowns we’d laugh at Gran’s bedside teeth,

coming out like stars. And she bequeathed me

more of her life. I knew she was happy, passing me

spindles of Ric-rac, ribbon, guipure lace; our hands

aglitter in bells & reindeers woven into braid.

She eased paper patterns from covers, kept material

when a bride. Citron pillow slips from her marriage bed,

now smelling of naphthalene, frayed at the edges;

her pale fingers, lucent as ice, shaking on the perfect

blue satin stitch of forget-me-nots.

This poem will be in my new collection "of Arc & Shadow" (tentatively titled). I know my poem Granddaughter & Grandmother has been popular so hopefully you will enjoy this! My grandmother was an angel, she taught me to sew, crochet, knit and also rug making. Although those skills have now lapsed, I remember her with great joy, spending time with me on the back step of our weatherboard and tin house.