Tea bags and wet dog, crossword ink on fingertips.
Chocolate biscuit wrappers, garden pond algae.
Hairspray that held those curly grey locks in place. Regal.
Scents mixed and shaken,
ground and stirred – a dusting of her
that wafts through air like a time
machine, shuttling me back to a
bowling alley, a country show digging
up worms. A couch that belched
stories when sat on. Vegetable broth.
I’d bottle it. I’d use it sparingly.
Red carpet occasions only.
Or for our backyard patio boardgames.
The Two-Cent Daffodil
My Nana Pat, with a careful hand and eye,
Would've loved this stamp, a piece of sky.
Two daffodils, sun-kissed and so bright,
Held in a square of soft, creamy light.
I can picture her now, with her albums open wide,
A small world of paper and ink by her side.
With tweezers so gentle, she'd settle each one,
A small victory savored beneath the afternoon sun.
This two-cent flower, a promise of spring,
Was the sort of small treasure she loved to bring
Into her collection, a record of place,
Each stamp a new story, a moment of grace.
And though she is gone, I can still see her smile,
In this tiny landscape, worth more than a while.
For this isn't just postage, but memory's art,
A daffodil blooming in a grandmother's heart.
I often gaze through Nana's broken window but today feels distinctly different as I watch the blackbirds pecking at the pears in the avocado trees. Nana harvested the finest ripe avocados and pears, their colors a lovely blend of dark burgundy and green, all from that old, timeworn tree.
Each year, we meticulously inspect every pear before packing them into a brown barrel. They were moist and delicious on the inside, so easy to peel—those exquisite, ripe pears.
Today, I am about to open the last marked box of Nana's belongings. Gently, I unwrap the final item, carefully enclosed in an old newspaper. It is her bread pan, the one with two handles, and I notice an old, burnt crumb lodged in one corner. A smile forms on my face, and I weep softly as I say,
"Hello to you too, Nana."
She promised we would see again,
The trailing night was a restrain.
She wanted to see me some years ago,
Couldn’t see her even to say hello.
Raging hearts were yet to be pacified,
Her late coming wasn't yet justified.
She promised we'd see again in the fall,
But mortals cannot see all nor know all.
Her mind plummeted into the night,
She was a shadow in the light.
Slowly she eased into the beyond,
Pulling apart our newly found bond.
November 8, 2024.
In sharing my thoughts about Nana...
Where do I even begin?
Her smile that lit up every room?
Her sparkle? Her mischievous grin?
Her rib cracking hugs have been mentioned a lot
By the friends who she mutually adored.
Many felt inspired by her courage, her faith
And her trust in the Sovereign Lord.
Her sense of humour was second to none.
She loved banter as much as the rest.
She enjoyed Disney movies and light-hearted shows.
But MasterChef, for her, was the best.
But most memorable of all, as all would recall
In her life from the very start
Is the person she was to all who she met -
Her loving soul. Her caring heart.
You used to say
that pizza always sucks
once you’ve had your last slice
you’d grab the best sneer to mimic
all those moments we couldn’t box in
would have your forehead slipping into eternity
by stroking the surface of boiling water
would complain about pain
like it it could go away with high frequency
and would dress my happiness
like the first day of school
would remove my patience
strip it back like sun-dried skin
extract the life out of mouldy glimpses
pour it back into sudden itches
i don't feel like i belong here
ill never get used to this world
or maybe this world will never get used to me
i was birthed from a generation of misunderstood women
screaming in each others ears, conveying emotions beyond what we know
raised by roaches
fed by anger and the organs of my decaying lover
bathed in blood
and wrapped in skin
consumed by a world that can never love me
When I became a nana,
On this date, ten years ago,
There were so many things I didn’t
Know I didn’t know.
Like how I’d feel to hold my grandson,
Singing him to sleep,
Or how my love for him would bloom
And settle in, down deep.
The months and years I’ve watched him grow
Have flown by in a snap,
From when I read him “Goodnight Moon”
While nestled in my lap…
Until today, when we discuss
The world and its events.
I marvel at his knowledge
But a part of me laments
That times I rocked him in my arms
Were part of bygone days,
Yet I’ll remember always
All the trust held in his gaze.
A V.I.P, Our Queen you see. There will never be anyone else quite like her.
Always dressed in her Absolute best, nothing more and nothing less.
Her absolute favourite was M&S.
Not a hair out of place, or lack of smile upon her face.
Everywhere she went, Our nana radiated beauty, elegance and grace.
Our Nana was a hero, Sweet but Stern,
Funny but Firm, Small and Mighty,
Terrific and Tiny.
A force to be reckoned with I think you would all agree, Zooming around with her frame Ever so hastily!
Throughout the years there were ups and downs, Our nana got up and straightened her crown.
An inner strength I most admired, Our nana's time came and she grew tired.
We tucked her in and said Goodnight, your wings are ready, you can stop this fight.
We will all be okay and take care of our Mum, go to Grandpa now Our nana, go and live another lifetime of fun.
One eye was green, the other one brown, with a mouth
that never knew a frown.
If her world was turned upside down,
she always knew she would turn it around.
My Nana..
A better hostess there couldn't be.
She accomodated so graciously, always
offering a cup of tea, so vibrant and full of energy..
My Nana..
She stood at all of 5 foot 2 and talked so much
you'd actually see blue.
When she turned on that charm many people she drew and
Nana was gifted in how to woo..
My Nana..
Once in the E.R., very sick, she fumbled in her purse for her lipstick,
rolled up one sleeve for the blood draw prick, then poured on the
charm real thick..
My Nana..
Schools are closed for Veterans’ Day
So Henry, here at home,
Requested that he have a chance
To write my daily poem.
He commandeered my notebook
And began to neatly write,
Resulting in a poem so cool
It filled me with delight.
He typed it up and posted it
To send it on its way.
My grandson, 9 years old, must have
My rhyming DNA!
Henry’s Poem (called “Veterans of the Ocean”)
Coast Guard guards the coast;
Beaches welcome their host.
Waves come,
Waves go,
Sand gets in your feet, oho!
Waves are high,
Waves are low,
How many veterans do you know?
Never met my Nana...
She died before my birth
Always wished to meet her,
And all that she was worth.
The most beautiful woman
I’ve ever viewed in snaps,
Undeniably strong and for so long
Through the worst mishaps
I believe she knew I’d be here
Though we had never met,
I see it in her eyes
The specialness she kept.
Stolen from her mother
Just like her mothers’ past,
Sadness overwhelms me
Photographed to last.
With love she had her children
Though Aboriginals were prey,
One day it came and with no shame…
Took her girls away.
Perhaps I would had known her
If her life not been that hard,
The strongest for the longest
Though heart remained so scarred.
Intelligent she was
With languages diverse,
Did not stop the evil acts
Stemmed from white mans’ curse.
With fire she fought for humankind
Against the cruel and mean,
Shedding tears from missing years
My Nana, My Blood, My Queen.
Relationships with grandkids
Are controlled by mom and dad
And time with them fulfills a dream
I didn’t know I had.
For hours that we spend are not
Like any other time –
Exhausting, yes, but precious
And delightfully sublime.
Yet as they age, becoming selves
That they’ll grow up to be,
Connections made outside the home
May oftentimes be key.
So I was thrilled this weekend
When each grandchild made a call,
On Daddy’s phone, to share some news
That held them in its thrall.
If life is like a garden
And a grandchild is a seed
Sown and nurtured by their parents,
There’s one thing each one will need –
It’s the sunshine that the nana
And the grandpa do provide.
“Hello Nana” on the phone was proof
That need’s been satisfied.
I'm in the decade before the decade
she left the world, and my world....
The world did not mark it,
the world did not miss her
(any more than it will miss me)
but my world does--my world of
sun-gold and ocean-blue, my own
little world reading books while
sitting like a happy little king on
the porch of my grandparents' old
house on the bay at Ocean City....
I read in gentle sunshine, I read
while breathing pure ocean air
and sometimes smelling a cake
baking in Nana's kitchen and
knowing I was safe, sure, alive....
I'm in the decade before the decade
my Nana left the world, and as I near
the time when--God willing-- I'll be
with her again as the 40 odd years since
she left my world compress: smaller and
smaller time itself becomes, and freer
and freer is my once lost soul....
SHE'S NO BASIC CHICK
SHE'S THE REAL DEAL
SHE KEEPS ME ON MY TOES
SHE SAY I DRIVE HER CRAZY THAT'S THE REASON SHE OUT OF CONTROL
F LOVE SHE'S MY DRUG
I'M ADDICTED TO HER
SHE ALWAYS ON HER BIKINI
LIKE IT'S SUMMER TIME
ALL I SEE IS HER BROWN SKIN LIKE I'M COLOUR BLIND
MY LIPS ARE ALWAYS TOUCHING HER'S
HANDS ALWAYS ON HER CURVES
I WORK HARD ON HER LIKE A SLAVE
WE GO SO HARD AND WE GO SLOW MOTION
SHE'S MY MOTIVATION
SHE STILL SAY I'M ON PROBATION
SHE SO SWEET AND CARING
SO LET'S MAKE CLEAR I'M NOT SHARING
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