Wednesday, September 7, 2011

memories in the dusk

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pic credit - graur codrin; freedigitalphotos.net
"Was she beautiful?"  rosebud mouth framed lisping words.
"How much did you love her?" strident words echoed instantly
"Tell us, tell us about you," an ear for a story, eager eyes met his.

His gnarled hands reached, fingertips resting, on his cheek
mornings of light, her tapering fingers, caressing him so,
a call to life, the one he met, grateful and unflinching for fifty odd years.

"Grandpa?" a lisp sounded,
His eyes were locked, in space, filled by a vision
Her back, flowing like dunes, soft curve inward,
drops of moisture, like gems, static then tracking a path down,
as she undressed, after gardening, cooking, the day,
while he waited, for a sight of grace.

"Did you hear us?" strident voice sounded,
His ears rang with her laughter,
"Darling, would you please...?" she began, so often,
He would pretend not to hear, so she would call him again,
Mellifluous notes, songs of desire, she loved to sing,
it was difficult to hear, anything else.

"Was she beautiful grandpa?" a soft voice cajoled,
Graceful hands waved, a loving benediction every morning,
deep eyes, held his, never needing to speak,
her belly, his children's first home, pressed against his,
as she rested on his chest, ear to his heart,
where she was burned forever.

"Grandpa, are you going to say anything?"
"Huh?" he was shocked to find, three faces, with her in them.
"We've been waiting forever. Did you hear us?"
"What? Oh...yes. She was beautiful."
"How beautiful grandpa?" the soft voice, heavy with tears asked,
"So beautiful," he said, smiling, heart rending, "that she had enough
to share with the three of you, after your parents."

"You loved her grandpa?" the strident voice, softened now.
"Yes. Yes, I did," he said, too quietly.
"How much?" the lisping voice challenged,
"So much..." he halted, "so much, that I can't bear to see a
bit of her in you."
"So much," he added, "that while it hurts me, I still love you."

pic link - http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=982

4 comments:

  1. Anne,
    wonderfully rich and lovely....my favorite part:

    Graceful hands waved, a loving benediction every morning,
    deep eyes, held his, never needing to speak,
    her belly, his children's first home, pressed against his,
    as she rested on his chest, ear to his heart,
    where she was burned forever.
    .......
    for those of us who have experienced this kind of deep unspoken love.............well we can grasp the depth of this poem. Reading it invited me to be thankful for the wonderful deep rich relationship I have with "big daddy"...well done Anne....well done.

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  2. Pam, thank you for all that you've said. I see couples, old and content, and think that the memory of their lives cannot be that faded. I see younger people treat it as something that an indulgent grandparent should share, artlessly expecting cute asides, anecdotes etc. It's almost as if one expects their love to matter less. May you and Big Daddy have endless happiness!

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  3. Wow. That's really all I can say. Great stuff Anne!

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