A Lonely/Lovely Path
When I was a young woman
Just embarking on my own life
My grandmother departed and
Left me a special gift –
A small, delicately framed
Faded black and white photograph
Of a long foot worn path running
Through a tall field of wildflowers
With a pointed church steeple in the distance
And in the bottom corner -
In my grandmother’s tiny European scrawl -
A title – as I read it then –
“A Lonely Path.”
I knew she had given it to me
To remind me of her and the time
We had travelled together
A few years earlier
Back to her childhood homeland
To the small German village where
She had lived with her grandmother
And walked this very path.
In my grief, holding the picture
The title felt fitting - as I knew
From the stories I learned
On our journey to the place
Of her lost and sad youth
That she walked a lonely path
For many years of her life.
Illegitimate, abandoned by her father
Even before her birth
Sent away by her mother who
Couldn’t live with the pain of
Seeing her child’s face
So much like her absent father’s
Only to be brought back later
Like a real-life Cinderella
To care for her stepsisters
Until bravely leaving Germany
On her own at seventeen
To find a new path to walk
in America and a family of her own.
And now, half a lifetime later
Recovering from long term illness
I feel pulled to revisit family history
And realize upon studying
The photograph on the wall
In my front hall that I have walked by
For many years now with a tinge of sadness
That maybe I had read my grandmother’s title
All wrong.
Rereading the note taped on the back
That she had written just to me -
This is the view from Grandmother’s house
The meadow full of wildflowers
We would hear the Angelus ring from
That church steeple at six in the morning,
Twelve noon, and six in the evening –
That meant run home , no matter what play
And pray the Angelus –
I still love to hear church bells!
I see now the title she really gave the photograph -
And maybe her life too - was “A Lovely Path”
And yet, as I continue to regard
My grandmother’s handwriting
I can see both titles reflected there,
Like one of those images that changes
Shapes as the light hits it from different angles
And I knew that her real gift to me was knowing
that we each walk our own lonely and lovely path
Copyright © Krista Kurth | Year Posted 2009
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment