Granny

image

I’m snapping green beans
I bought at the store today,
thinking they would remind me
of Granny and sitting
at the kitchen table,
listening to her “well,
when I was your age” stories.

Hoping that just for a moment
I could hug her again,
feel the sureness of her being,
her sweet familiarly.

Go back before dementia
stole her mind,
and cancer her body.
The days of sweet tea,
peppermints, and house dresses.

Granny could solve any problem
with a hickory stick or a stern look.

I miss her, even now years later,
I can’t help but compose
her in a poem- warm hands,
dark hair, sadness
that never left her eyes,
a lifetime of hardships

For a moment I’m ten again,
and Granny gives me her Irish grin.
Something soft but fierce about her.
Finding joy in an orderly
home and things done right.

How solid and healthy
she looks laboring away
over green beans.
Singing her favorite hymn
“In the sweet bye and bye”
Light shimmering through the room.
Real but unreal.

“We shall meet on that
beautiful shore”
Her notes gradually
becoming fainter.
The words descending,
echos from the past.
Love in every syllable.

I listen as evening opens
around me.
Sorrow changes its pitch.
Thee last of the sunlight
streams in the windows.
Swelling, even as it
disappears, even as it waves goodbye.

-Tosha Michelle

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59 thoughts on “Granny

  1. Absolutely beautiful, Tosha! And what an amazing reflection of my own experiences when I was little with my Granny.
    Sitting on the back porch in front of that big box fan grandpa built out of the old attic fan. Sucking on coolaid icecubes she used to make for us in one of those old metal ice trays…and helping her with the green beans.

    Thanks for writing this. brought back good memories for me.

    Liked by 3 people

      1. Your love for them is well illustrated in this beautiful piece.

        I stayed with Granny and Grandpa a lot when i was very little bc my Mom and Dad both worked. After I went to school we used to go to her house afterwards until my Mom got done with Work. Most of my young life was spent with them. πŸ™‚

        Liked by 3 people

  2. jdt1505

    This was a beautiful tribute to your Granny. I couldn’t help but think of my own Nana and mother when I was a young girl. Your poem was a warm and comforting embrace from them. Thank you, dear Tosha. :)xo ❀

    Liked by 3 people

      1. jacobemet

        My blog is now private. I’m temperamental and can’t be assed with “like” happy, self-seeking bloggers, for the time, so I’m only approving those who are sincerely interested in my work and will actually read it. I’m also cutting down on the blogs I follow. I’m seeking quality. πŸ™‚ (Yeah, I’m still following you.)
        And thank you, my day is wonderful. I’m getting back to my roots, finally.
        I hope yours is just as lovely and productive.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. jacobemet

        I’m willing to bet you’ll make it through it.
        If I might, I’d encourage you to be a little greedy with your down time. Not always is a word needed, written or read. πŸ˜‰

        Liked by 1 person

  3. This is so beautiful, and I know that atmosphere well also. I had two very wonderful southern grandmothers that raised me also. I know all about green beans, cobblers, sweet tea and picking blackberries and there is something so comforting about going back there in my mind. I also write quite a bit about my grandmothers. L. T. Garvin is a pen name and a combination of my both my grandmother’s names: Lola Twilla Garvin. Thank you so much for sharing that poem.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Very nice poem Tosha…. Hey guess what I actually read it and I enjoyed it..! I like reading your content… Mind you all of this is in correlation to what jacobemet said about putting his blog on private and yadda dee da… hey remember how i said something similar once about nobody really caring what others are posting as long as eyes are getting to their content..? guess he sort of feels the same way… anyways great poem… my grandmother is not doing so well these days and i feel especially drawn to this piece that you shared so thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I’m sorry to read this about your grandmother. I’ll keep her in my prayers.. I hope she gets better.

      Here’s my thoughts on likes and what not. First and foremost, write for yourself. I do. This is my therapy. If someone does take the time to read and it strikes a chord.. terrific. If they’re just liking to like… so be it.. I honestly try and take time each day to read blogs. There’s some amazing talent here. I’m voracious and fast reader. It’s no great sacrifice.. I’m also a fan of kindness. If someone is seemingly, emphasis on seemingly, taking the time to read my blog, I feel compelled to return the favor. Some days, I have more time than others. Some days,, I just get in one of my antisocial moods and don’t want to interact with anyone. I’m a mess. Ha!

      Liked by 2 people

  5. Pingback: Joe thinks hes a movie star… | JoeWritesHisWrongs

  6. Admonishment

    If there is a moment, when your sails of fortune luff
    Remember that the warlords do not improve your life.
    When your next payment outruns accounts received
    Don’t cry down trod human, you will have enough.

    Maybe not enough to stay where you are now, but more
    Than those who tempted fate by building bigger bombs.
    The children never stop to worry about their next meal,
    But don’t cry down trod human, there is enough, and more.

    Please crumple this philosophical pile of gibberish
    The first chance you get. You work too hard to listen
    To the ranting of the left. But when your choice to
    Be free causes hunger in your gut, you will have enough.

    Look, there are crying humans, and those who just don’t care
    And those who make themselves so rich from your efforts.
    But then there are the bright-eyed kids, long hours tormented
    By indecision followed by the warmth of an affair.

    But don’t cry down trod human, the love you find is real
    You wouldn’t want to trade for cash your ability to feel.

    Liked by 1 person

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