Author’s Note: I’ve been physically limited this week, and I’ve finally figured out why. This is the third (or maybe second or maybe fourth) year since my maternal grandmother’s death. Even if she hadn’t been my blood kin, she would have been and was an awesome friend. The stories she could tell filled me with pictures and thoughts and ideas. So this poem and another are to toast her memory.
Has it been two years, three years?
I don’t know.
The valley in my heart
Seems like it’s been there forever.
Its light used to shine
Now dimmed, covered, smothered
By the black holes you used to fill.
A vapor of smoke
Mingled with the coffee steam–
The lilacs pruned too much–
Not enough purple incense
To carry your wisdom to the sky.
I couldn’t touch your casket.
I couldn’t lay the rose there;
It was cut, wilting;
Its sunshine wouldn’t have made it
To greet you on resurrection day.