Constance La France Poet Verse

For Helena

grandma never knew her name until she was an adult
and it was Helena (some kind of birth certificate mix up) 
she embraced her new found name
it was lovely sliding off the lips like a waterfall
later, she found her Ojibwe roots 
and I hear the drums of my ancestors in my heart beating
grandma was our family storyteller
      she fascinated me and sparked my imagination
        I would watch her lips as she spoke
           how her voice changed
               how her facial expressions changed
I never grew tired of listening to her stories
stories told over and over until her death of people and places
nothing was written down
they died with her. . . I think that was meant to be
      grandma had given me a book
        a journal for my small girl thoughts
           and told me-  write it, write it 
             write it, for the world to know
so I did, I wrote in my room stories about my cat and flowers
in time, I wrote of my sadness that made grandma cry
       I had a gift just like Helena   
          I was a storyteller but in words
             a poet was born
                in a old attic room
                   I was lost in a sea of emotions
everyday over tea I would read my words for Helena,
I was able to pour my heart and soul on paper
my skill grew with me like a cool rippling stream
the drums of time ceased 
for my Helena and I wrote and read her eulogy
my heart swelled with a sea of tears
then, I heard weeping echoing in the church
within the stained glass window glow
and I knew then that I had a power
      Helena's gift... I had inherited
         because of her I am a writer
            the bond between us a delicate flower 
              and she had said to this sad little girl
                find the sweetness in the dregs of sorrow
                   for life is a lighted window and a closed door
_________________________
August 3, 2019


Poetry/Verse/For  Helena
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1223-804-02
All Rights Reserved.  Written under Pseudonym.


Submitted into Strand No 670 Contest,
sponsor, Brian Strand

Second Place

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John Watt February 8, 2020 at 9:30 PM Constance, this is pure loveliness. There is so much love for your grandma Helena dripping in every line. A story teller passing the baton to her kin... my eyes are welling up even as I type this. I love the drum thread you have woven into your lines. You have honored her memory with your eulogy, and now with this poem. God bless you as you pass along this priceless baton. Hugs ~ John John Watt February 9, 2020 at 12:49 AM That blesses me to know that, Constance. I'm sure she is very proud of you ~ John Constance La France February 8, 2020 at 11:33 PM John, thank you so much for your kind words, yes, I had a very special bond with my grandma, she is the reason I am a writer, I know she is looking down from Heaven and telling the other angels, that's my Wisshkobi Ode ( My Dear Heart) that was her childhood name for me and the reason I use it in my writing _Constance

Howard Kerr February 8, 2020 at 3:22 AM Congratulations on Medal Win for your poem, For Helena, Dear Heart Howard Constance La France February 8, 2020 at 11:34 PM Howard, thank you so much for the congratulations, appreciate _Constance