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Bruce Adams Jul 2019
She collected lolly sticks,
        The ones with jokes on them:
        Why did the chicken cross the road?-type stuff,
Which she stained brown and used as floorboards
in her magnum opus.

The Tudor house was the best one.
It had servants’ quarters
And a kitchen with little hessian potato sacks made
of something or other she salvaged from
somewhere or other;
And the floorboards looked so real:
        painted lolly sticks
        but almost evoking the smell of varnish,
        layers of polish on a floor trodden by centuries
        in perfect miniature;
                                                Almost­.

This was the last of the three
                                                or four
                                                        doll­s’ houses she built;
The devil’s work for her idle widow’s hands.
She built this one while you were entering your final
        stalemate
that doomed dance that sits so permanently
on your conscience
like a sack of compost
full of water.
        (I choose this simile only because
        I found this in my garden yesterday,
        and it was ******* heavy.)
On paper it was simple:
        You gave her your house,
        She gave you hers.

And so her house shrunk around her and
became a dolls’ house of your own making,
Irrationally
                        she saw your god-hands reaching in
to manipulate and
extort her.

She was wrong, of course.

You were making good on your promise.
You would come through for her in her frailty.
You did – but

it was a promise you made more to yourself than her,
And she let her illogical mind
        never analytical to begin with
        now razed and blinded by grief and loneliness
                        (there was nothing to work with)
poison your good deed,
you were both dolls now.

Eight years later she died lovelessly.

She retreated into her sitting room
        the only part of the house that stayed the same
        after you moved in –
                the walls closed in to contain it
                constrict it
a hospital bed and vinyl chair with commode,
and the brown laminate floor
        just like
        her lolly sticks.

You administered painkillers
Admitted the nurses
Negotiated with your estranged brother.

but her paranoia rotted everything
and your hands cared with compassion but not love.

Gone, now,
the dolls’ houses remain.
An inheritance of clutter
in a house you bought.

You answer the phone
                                        breathlessly
      ­                                  aggressively.
You have been heaving the big one up the stairs
        that sack of compost
        that heavy conscience of yours.

You will be heaving those ******* dolls’ houses around
until I have to buy your house and care for you.
But I am telling you now:
        I am putting them in a skip
        the moment I have the chance.

They are not imbued with the joy they gave her
any more than
                        by keeping them safe from landfill
                        you can imbue them with the love you withheld.

They are painted lolly sticks and sewn hessian.
They don’t contain any more of her
than the bits of paper she kept
        passwords and bank balances
        dates and instructions for the Sky box
There is nothing left of her to protect now.

Open up the hinged false front,
                tip out the miniatures
                let the little figures be free,
                                be landfill
                                (isn’t that what dying is anyway?)
all the tangible things she touched and loved
are not avatars for her touch and her love.

The past is not present through the preservation of objects.
The past is not erased by the advancement of time
                nor can it be undone by corrective action.

Now she is on the other side of the road,
        (why did the chicken
        behave.)
She has no further use for the things she left behind.
Randy Johnson Jul 2023
He was my papaw and he was my father's dad.
When he died in 1994, it was both tragic and sad.
If Papaw had survived, he would be celebrating his birthday.
If he hadn't died, he would've become 100 years old today.
He was born on July the 28th of 1923.
Today he would've lived for a century.
When Papaw took some medication, he became very sick.
He died six days after his birthday because he was allergic.
Dad was hurt by Papaw's death and so was I.
It's always painful to learn that a grandparent is going to die.
DEDICATED TO BURLEY R. JOHNSON (1923-1994) WHO DIED ON AUGUST 3, 1994
miki May 2023
it was your birthday yesterday
mom reminded me
like it hadn’t been the only thing on my mind all day
she said she couldn’t believe that it’s been so long
but it felt like i had just hugged you yesterday
i didn’t want to believe it
i don’t believe it
and i’m not sure that i ever will
so i set up a number that leads to no where
because i wondered what it would be like to call you
to leave you a message
to tell you how my day was
and i think of you
whenever i see a flannel shirt
when i eat peaches
when i smell fresh flowers
and sometimes when i want to feel close to you
i’ll go into my spare room, open the closet
and put on your army green police jacket that you left
it even still smells like you
i was too young then
i was too young to be sorting through an entire house of things so the entire family could decide what i would be able to remember you by
but even now
i don’t need your things
i remember you as clear as the blue skies you loved
it would just be nice to have more of you around
but i know you’re there
i look up at the photos of you in the living room every single day and smile
you’re gone
but i know you’re here

twelve years gone
but i can still feel you all around
light TS sample - marjorie, evermore.
Hailey Oct 2020
I went to your favorite restaurant today
I’m not sure why
I ordered your favorite food
And suddenly I started to cry.

                       - I miss you.
rose hopkins Sep 2020
I watch,
the ocean of emotion
welling up
through limpid eyes
in fearful, tearful panic
clutching at the straws
that are granddad
that true constant
love
unspoken.
BLT's word of the day challenge  "limpid"  =  transparency, clear, simple.
Dani Apr 2020
Generational gaps of knowledge and experience
Bringing to you some kind of appearance
Like the technology at our fingertips
Or the way an old clock ticks
Differences in us by decades of age
Though, similar in so many ways
Like the way we love
Or want be loved
Like the need to dance
Or taking a chance
Generational differences
But human nonetheless
We are all human
Dani May 2020
Generational gaps of knowledge and experience
Bringing to you some kind of appearance
Like the technology at our fingertips
Or the way an old clock ticks
Differences in us by decades of age
Though, similar in so many ways
Like the way we love
Or want be loved
Like the need to dance
Or taking a chance
Generational differences
But human nonetheless
Gen X, Y, Millennials, whatever you are... we are all the same, we are all human.
SM May 2019
I always felt the warmth of your embrace
When I ate melting Mac and cheese.
The bright yellow cheese gleamed like your eyes
I saw your smile in smirking elbow noodles, curled upwards.
Ham and bread crumbs sprinkled the top,
Creating the perfect symphony of savory on my taste buds.
The blueberry muffins always tasted so sweet...

I miss your sweetness.

The call of your voice echoes now
As a distant shout for dinner to be served.
It’s been years since you’ve passed,
But I still hear your words call down the hall
floating over Jeopardy playing on the television.

I can’t hear your voice anymore saying you love me,
But I can always hear it haunt me when I eat Mac & Cheese.
It’s the only time I can hear voice...

I miss your voice.

The smell of Mac & Cheese makes me sick now.
Flavor doesn’t dance on my taste buds anymore.
The cheese tastes cold.
The blueberries taste bitter.
The savory ham now tastes sorrowful.
And the bread crumbs feel like sand scraping my mouth.

No one else makes it like you did,
Even if the recipe is the same.
But I still eat it.
Because I feel you with me when I do.
It’s the only time I do...

I will always miss the warmth of your melting Mac & Cheese,
And the warmth of your embrace.
I miss you.
Rochelle Foles May 2019
her grandmother        stood at the window in the kitchen

             the corners of her mouth turned up into
                  an unconscious slight smile
                  at the sight
                             of a spinning yellow blur  
                              under the big oak
                              in the middle of the pasture
                              surrounded by green grasses
                                                       wonderous hues of wildflowers

she quietly called out to grandad
                             come see this

                the lanky cowboy sauntered in
                             from the breezeway
                             with his umpteenth cup of coffee
                              peered at the blur of yellow
                              
                              opened the side door
                              stepped out on the deck beside the metal glider and
                                   called out in his smooth baritone voice

                                      sheeeeeelllllliiii...
                                      sheeeeeelllllliiii  lllllloooooooooo...
                                      


she might have
                             been 4
                                   or perhaps five

              precious in the way
                  innocent girls that age are


               dressed in smocked yellow lawn
                                                white lace
                                                patent leather

                                                  up to her shins in spring grasses
    
      slowing her spin
      she turned toward her name

       her face radiant she took a wobbly step or two
      then broke into an off kilter run
                                                 arms stretched out before her

      he took a few long strides
bent his tall body low
offering a bent knee
                 wide open arms


she flew into them with all her might
                   knowing she would be caught
                   rough housed with
                   and given a wickereye

            





                   from the window her grandmother took it all in
                                sighed
                                said to herself
                                         hold this dear
                                         hold this snapshot of the soul
                          

                                         for.                           ever.
my granddad and i had a love-love-andmore-love based relationship.  he’s my greatest hero and the man John Wayne wished he was in real life.  we worshiped each other and i will forever and all ways n always hold him close in my heart.  what a lucky girl i’ve been!
The first time I saw you ***** out the lights
You took the blood from a kitten with ten thousand bites
I was young and did not understand
I could take it, no need to hold a hand
Sadly, little did I know
That day I only saw your shadow

The second time I saw you, I was about ten
I could not prepare myself for you, not  then
Walking in your house, or rather your gateway
Quiet rooms filled with bodies painted gray
There you stood just around the corner
Keeping to yourself like an exotic foreigner

But when you took Libby from me
That is when I started to see
You were in the room with us
In fact, you were the one causing all the fuss
No one was fighting, Libby was old
Still, how could you take a woman so strong, so bold?

Here is where you crossed the line
When you took Her, you filthy swine
She had her flaws that's true
But not enough to stay with you
She was my savior, my salvation
There's not much left of someone after cremation

When my time comes to meet you in the ring
Fist to face I'll make it sting
If I could do one thing for all mankind
Killing You comes to mind
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