THE PATHWAY OF HER SONG

Granny's garden
she's in there somewhere
only her song visible

camouflaged by
her ripening gooseberries
Granny sings to the summer

I follow
the path of her
song

pillowcases & tea towels
drying on bushes & branches
Granny and the birds sing

I step on each note
a pathway
through the air

Granny's garden overgrown
with Time
her song still rests upon the air

Granny's garden
she's in there somewhere
hidden by Death

I step upon each note
still following
the pathway of her song

*

She was always Granny to me and I loved her dearly. She was almost blind by this time and when we went down to Ballea she would feel your face  with her fingertips as if she she were sculpting you out of thin air...it was always lovely to be created by Granny...you felt brand new as if you had just popped into the world that second.

I went back to Ballea when it was half a ruin and Nellie's bedroom had no ceiling and was flooded and her brass bed was a ship for a chicken and photographs floated face down as if dead...this is one I rescued from the waters of time...hence its state but I kinda love it all the more for that...in that it should by rights be gone but...it isn't. I loved her immensely as any little boy who had a granny like her...would do. I used to curl into her little flower covered apron which I thought were tiny tinchy stars and she would croon songs to me or just sounds that soothed...she was incredibly beautiful to me and a constant source of wonder. Her garden with goosegogs and an abundance of flowers was my paradise...I would sit for hours covered by flowers and eating too many gooseberries and the world couldn't find me...there was just the universe of me until granny's voice called me into being and I ran towards her open arms.
After she died I came back to find her iconic apron torn up and used to polish shoes...I used to hug it and cry and cry.
It was as if she had been cut out of the universe and where she should have been was a granny shaped hole that looked into the nothingness.