Clouded by cobwebs
these days
you tell the same stories
and ask for news
forgotten by the next clock stroke.
You are no longer the apple peeler
whose hands never faltered
in wielding blade or teacup,
whichever was needed
to cater for me.
Though I bare your name
the syllables slip
and you must grasp
at faces I resemble
in the hope you’ll catch a memory
before it fades for good.
You were seventy-seven at my birth
and yet you stood
in photos with me,
constant in attention and love.
I do not know,
a world without.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
Clouded by cobwebs
these days
you tell the same stories
and ask for news
forgotten by the next clock stroke.
You are no longer the apple peeler
whose hands never faltered
in wielding blade or teacup,
whichever was needed
to cater for me.
Though I bare your name
the syllables slip
and you must grasp
at faces I resemble
in the hope you’ll catch a memory
before it fades for good.
You were seventy-seven at my birth
and yet you stood
in photos with me,
constant in attention and love.
I do not know,
a world without.
Ba is the name that the family gave my Great Grandmother. According to her, she used to walk my pram down by the sheep and say "look at the ba-ba lambs!"
This apparently led to be referring to he as Ba.
The poem contains the same amount of words as years that she has lived so far. The point of this style of poem is that you use a person's age as the word limit for your work.
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