Though the rooms of her heart might be shattered Her strong will and majestic grace remains resolute She bore the remnants of ochre like tattoos on the walls of her body As she cradled humanity's first born with promise Her eyes bore the ravages of battles lost Yet her reserves will lead us into the future as a blueprint from the beginning And she will be called the matriarch angel of the universe
When my grandmother dies, I hope they fill her casket with flowers. So that the last time we see her, she is nestled in amongst the delicate feathered petals of mountain bluet haloed by the bright yellow of birdsfoot the length of her soft decaying body is caressed by the long stalks of bottle brush and bog candle so that we can imagine her, splayed out in a warm field on the outskirts of St Johns laughing in the sunlight the weight of such a long life, of mothering so many children, melting away into the warm red soil.
I hope the service is held in a small white church with all the windows thrown open; the clear air and the sunlight tumbling down onto our heads, onto her lightly clasped hands, onto her soft lips...
I hope they read poems for her play light happy songs for her I hope everyone remembers to tell her they love her. I will ask, that they bury her somewhere with a good view of the stars, lay her to rest where the wind blows the smell of the ocean over her, and she can admire the sunrise under the arms of a gentle Alder.
I hope we remember that she has loved so deeply that she has laughed and lost and been so unbearably human all of her life even when she has been quiet even as she has cared for us.
I hope we remember what a resilient woman she is but also how tender. How new she once was, to love and to it’s touch.
And when I am someone’s grandmother I hope they remember that even I, was once somebody’s lover.
gone so long fine memories line your beauty face adored paltry company by now the made doll with her tight red smile no secrets will divulge pretty blue eyes held so wide by violent stitches black no blinking now and no excuse the truth is all revealed as the lie was all reviled but once it was a simple sharing blood along the line mother strength to daughter from she to me to mine
musing with the doll made by grandmother for her daughter....