Remember

An iron picketed fence defines the outskirts of the grassy plain, dotted with protruding memorials

I hear the voice of the wind whisper its secrets in my ear

My black gown cascades down my back and my face is shrouded by a crocheted black cloth

I cradle the roses in my hand, caressing the frail petals as though I were kissing a child’s head.

A thorn pricking the tip of my finger, like a bare needle protruding out of grandma’s worn pin cushion

I see a picture too familiar for a young girl like me,

Grey, dull monuments erupting out of the Earth before me,

Each one a memory of someone long ago or near at hand

My hand brushes the smooth granite of the memorial

In the shade of the willow lies a dirt pile, newly made.

I kneel before it and lay the flowers at the head

It’s still raw,

My body bent over as I wept into my hands

The tears run down my cheek and rain down on the soil

The birds cry with my heart mourning of the loss

The river babbles trying to comfort my erratic sobs

I’m alone.

Alone

I present, before the dirt, memories

Gay memories of laughter and joy

The faded photos and their sleek appearance comfort to me

And the faces of my grandmother and grandfather engraved on the paper embrace my thoughts

A memory of delight, of a time before pain

A prance in the courtyard, surrounded by trumpeting flowers

A kiss during a light fall shower

A time of joyous harmony, of unending hope,

A time when losing someone was only a nightmare, not a memory.

My grandmother’s eyes still lit with life stared back at me from the paper,

And the faded blue of her dress reminded me of the quilt she had made for me

Her smile radiating from the dull photo,

Her hair pulled back in a bun, and her naked face, alluring and enrapturing

And my grandfather, a lively face to anyone he would meet

A worn and affectionate man, quick with a smile, with a gleam, a sparkle shining from his bright caramel eyes

His hearty laugh and his gentle voice like the receding thunder after the last spring storm                 

ringing through my ears

I can hear a joke dance off his tongue, and with it comes a cheerful sound

I can hear the happiness in grandmother’s laugh,

A sweet, musical sound

Her voice smooth as glass

And when she sang

We were surrounded by an angel choir

I remember pop and grandfather sitting on the porch

Seesawing back and forth in their rocking chairs

And grandma ensconced on the soft wood of the bench, leaning on the railing

Dangling her hand over the edge, letting the cool breeze carry her frail fingers

The sweet twang of the banjo

And the low hum of the bass carried through the air

And grandmother’s voice

Singing and

The last note

Fading

into

Ete

Rn

It

y

.