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Anais Vionet Jul 30
I’m FaceTiming with my Grandmère, we touch-base once a week. I love that face, wrinkled, like wind-weathered driftwood, and she’s a wag.
“Are you familiar with the ECB?” She asks.

I wince at this odd turn in conversation, “Not REALLY,” I say, searching my mental index of useless facts and cross-matching those with her interests, “the European Central Bank?” I reply. “Oui.” she says.

“Let’s see,” I begin in a bored voice, “Inflation – transitory or persistent?” I say, in my best TV news-reader voice. “No,” I chuckle, “Not really, I have REAL, boring-things I’m learning about.”

“You’ll need to - one day,” she says, like a tarot reading oracle.

“I can’t imagine why.” I said.

“I’m writing a few sentences about you!” I interject, to both change the subject and see what she says. She’s the only one in the family who knows I write.

“Oh,” she sighs, “Am I young, immoral and reckless?”

“Yes, you ARE,” I assure her, “you’re the worst.”

“Good," she confides, “I miss those days.”
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Wagish: a wag is a clever person prone to joking - wagish is behaving like a wag.
Steve Page Jun 19
As I wait, I see on an uncomfortably high stool
the grandmother perching opposite
the comfortably bored teenager
replete in his distressed Ramones tee shirt
and ripped white jeans.

She holds her black coffee with both hands, while he plays
with the long spoon in his tall glass of hot chocolate,
her eyes focused on the top of his head,
his engrossed in the puddle of brown milk around his saucer.

Below the music, she pleads for a friendship that he
shows no interest in until she reaches into her bag
and emerges with perhaps something that he’s been waiting for –

And beyond the counter, shielded by formica, the percolators and stacked cups, the apprentice barista drops his tray and from the back two men in ill-fitting suits give a half-hearted cheer, while his boss withholds her anger in front of the paying customers, but judging by her face she would gladly take her protégé by his stained apron and string him up – I think this isn’t the first time she’s taken the cost of breakages out of his salary.

And I’ve missed what it is grandma has presented to her grandson
– all I can see is a suggestion of his fingers playing with silver,
a ring perhaps? The hot chocolate is pushed aside and his shoulders straighten.  
She still looks uncertain, and the seconds drag until his face seems to soften.
He looks up and mouths what might be a thank you.  

And he doesn’t withdraw his hand when she covers it with her own.
Arvon retreat writing exercise - a story with a break
Ashwin Kumar Nov 2021
Dear Patti, we miss you
We miss you so much
That there is a gaping hole
Taller than the Burj Khalifa
Left by your absence
Not a soul can replace you
You were one of a kind

Dear Patti, we miss you
You were always there for us
Whether it be the immediate family
Whether it be close relatives
Whether it be friends
So much so
That your presence was taken for granted

Dear Patti, we miss you
From your words of wisdom
To your unconditional support
From your sheer optimism
To your never-say-die spirit
From your delicious meals
To your spooky tales
From your knowledge of various topics
Whether it be cricket
Whether it be politics
Whether it be trains
To your unwavering enthusiasm

Dear Patti, we miss you
I still remember the day
As though it were only yesterday
When my dear friend
Was hopelessly marooned in her hostel
During the peak of the Chennai floods
Along with her family
It was your unconditional love
That saved the day
And my friend and her family
Can never forget you
Not just because of your timely help
But also because, to you
They were also family

Dear Patti, we miss you
You left us so soon
That we had no time to say goodbye
But you should know this
You will always live in our hearts
As a grandmother
As a mother
As a wife
As a sister
As an aunt
As a dear friend
And finally
As a human being
A very beautiful human being
Tribute to my maternal grandmother who passed away on 4th October
ShininGale Oct 2021
It was a long day and now it's night,
you have lived 85 years with your hands held tight.

You have lived a life, provided light and
became many people's flower oh! so bright.

Many people didn't expect this moment, even I couldn't guess it.
But on this day forward, no promises can be made.
I know you dreamt of peace, peace within our family.
Forgive us all, because until the end only a new war was created.

Thank you for all battles that you fought for us,
the ones you won with us, thank you for being with us.

Today is your 31325th day in this vast world, with a long journey within your memories. With broken heart and scattered feelings,
with the cure of the ones who loved you and the wholeness of those you loved.

I know tomorrow might get better, but I'll just hold on to this pain
a little longer... as I wave goodbye and kiss you from afar, I was grateful to be by your side when I was able.

I was and still am! grateful of every inch of you grace and blessing.
It was hard seeing you in pain, though we know one day it'll come... but the bus just came too soon.

Lastly, we promise to achieve our dreams, to continue our passion.
To love our parents, to love our siblings, to love one another as it was your dream before the light turned green.

Farewell, my lola! It was an honor to serve you and love you!
it was an honor to be loved and supported by you.
We will still go on, move on, stay on the ground and
keep our heads high!

But fear not! we promise to bring you memories with us!
To keep your teachings, to appreciate your lectures
and to give our all, just like you did...
I love love love you with all my heart and soul!
~ 010021010042PM ~
It was a blessed yet painful day! Who knew this day would come, even though there were shallow and dark days... I am happy that I saw the bright and happy times. Lola, I love you forever and my heart will always feel grateful, from this day to eternity.

Thank you! thank you! thank you! I, we, wouldn't even reach this level of education without you and God's grace! All to you and to Him, I hope that you are together now! I hope the pain already stopped! I LOVE YOU!!!

There are too many things I want to say, today is not enough!
I will continue to write and think of things to tell you, I will say many things! All the love and kindness shall be said and bring back to you!
Anais Vionet Aug 2021
My sweet little gran-mire is 94 Years old.
She still works, as the chairwoman of the family trust
- you can call her “Godfather.”

The “frail old lady” is a humorous disguise she dons
to bamboozle the unwitting - think tiger stripes.

Don’t be fooled, or lulled and don’t ever try to BS her.
The business cosmos wheels behind those eyes.
Her heart was replaced with an abacus, centuries ago.
She’s met everyone in the world who matters.
She has body guards and minions.

Tonight there’s a small birthday party
at the Musée Marmottan Monet (museum) in Paris.

When she comes in, the 40 or so guests formed
an impromptu receiving line - so I queued up too.

Stewards regularly pass and I manage to gulp down
two flûtes of champagne while on line (I LOVE Paris).
This has the makings of a great party.

Finally, it was my turn. we cheek kissed (fait la bise).  
I took her small, gloved hand in mine
and it struck me that little white gloves are genius.

“Thank you for inviting me,” I said
inching closer because the music was loud,
“Nothing tops a big-budget party.” I said.
“We agree.” she said with a nod.
“Happy Birthday.” I mouthe.
We la bise again and I moved on so the conga-line could progress.

Ooo! Another steward!
Imagine what all you could experience in 94 years.
Old woman lying warm on her bed,
never knowed, her life would be so good

Old man holding hands of hers,
reminded her about their past years of love and trust

Children standing next to her bed,
looking at her eyes, smiling with raining eyes

Grand children appreciating grandmama's recepe,
and shared with her,their funny old tales

Her eyes searched for someone more,
there stood at the door with a warm smile,her old good bestie...
S R Mats Jun 2021
My granny loved Banny hens.
They are small but they can be feisty.
Just as was she.
Taylor St Onge Jun 2021
I’m in the dream again:                not the one I had while awake in
the catacombs of St. Callixtus in Rome.  Where the darkness was
so impenetrable that it began to echo.  To look like the mixture of colors
that burst when you rub your eyes too hard for too long.  Like the
neuron rupture before death.  To shape and morph and become liquid.
Where the darkness cobbled itself into a physical form.

Not the dream where                    I kept seeing
flits of my mother out of the corner of my eye.  Behind
                                                                ­                               every street corner.
                                                                ­                   Every turn.  Every tunnel.  
      Reflected in the casts of the bodies in Pompeii.
Mirrored in the waves of the Trevi Fountain.

I’m in the dream where          the soil churned from the bottom to the top.  
                               where          the hand outstretched from the grave.  
                               where          my grandfather clawed his way out and returned to my grandmother﹘sopping wet, covered in thick mud, socks torn, skin sallow and jaundiced, spitting out the wire the embalmers put in his mouth, melting makeup, and ravenously hungry.  And it’s been so
                                                                ­                   long since he was hungry.  

“He came back to me, Taylor,” my grandmother tells me. 
“He came back to me.”
                                        I don’t have the heart to tell her that he’s undead.  
                                        I’m physically unable to spit out those words.
And it’s a dream and it’s a dream and it’s a dream,                   but
it just fits so perfectly.  That he would come back to her.  
That death would not be a barrier.  I can’t explain it.                It just is.  
My grandmother is a shell without him.  
The body that’s missing the limb.  
The body that keeps score.
write your grief prompt 10: amorphous prompt
Anna May 2021
pink
a light shade of rose
they said it's what you liked
what you would've chose

but how could anyone know?
how could they tell?
once your memory began slipping
and your motivation fell

hell, you didn't know my name anymore
for that, i will never be mad
at you at least
and I'll forever be sad
that i couldn't know who you were

because i know that message
didn't do you justice

they should've said more
how you fought
how you were
before

because in my mind
i like to think
you weren't that silent pretty pink
but perhaps bolder
perhaps a red
daring and loving
more than we could ever express

and now i say goodbye
to you, shrouded in pink
and in my head, i think
"Is this what you have wanted?"
for us to laugh, to drink?
to talk with you in the room, holding a permanent blink?

and i wonder
where you are
they say heaven
and i reckon
it's true; you were an angel on Earth
at least that's what i heard
because i don't remember much
but i loved you and i want you to know
i'm thinking of you now and hope you're happy
wherever now you call home.
Night falls like a heavy blanket
As the smell of rain wafts off the pavement,
Wheels of my father’s truck carrying us homeward.
The mountains stand like shadowed specters,
Black against a cloud covered sky,
Moon too shy to peak out from behind
The curtains of leftover moisture.
I hum a choked-up rendition of
Stairway to Heaven that plays across the radio waves.
Tonight, we are driving home from celebrating my grandmother’s
90th birthday.
My soul aches with the joy of sharing this occasion with her
And the sadness of watching as age catches her in life’s race.
I count my blessings that I have been gifted this moment,
For one never knows how many lie around the corner.
She is the most amazing person I’ve had the opportunity to meet.
If I could be granted the rest of my life be spent in her company,
It would still be too short.
Love reminds me that sometimes the best things in life
Are the ones that hurt the most to lose,
Yet I would not trade a moment’s loving her
For an ounce less pain.
It is worth it to love her so completely
For as long as time will let me.
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