A photograph of you welcomes
anyone entering my door
It was taken years ago

The scent of tobacco leaves fill my
olfactory memory
Chats by the kitchen table
Home-grown tomatoes and buttermilk
Scribbled artwork on the fridge
Crumpled tissue next to the snuff cup

We have the same middle name

Decades of holidays and summer visits
tree climbing
autumn leaf pile jumping
Tag in the backyard
Old toys smelling of age
Walks in the cemetery

You always bought me pajamas and
kitchen towels for Christmas
Now shredded and worn thin

Your birthday card consistently the first
in my mailbox
But this year it never arrived

You always stood at your front door
to watch me drive away

And this is how I will remember you
Furiously waving as if never wanting to say


Rest in Peace, Emma Marie. Granny. You will be greatly missed.


Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet, Yep I'm Becoming My Mother

2 responses to “Marie

  1. Laura Rahuba

    Except from the snuff (I’m from up North), this sounds a lot like my great-grandmother Esther! Especially the kitchen towels and the waving.
    P.S. I do enjoy your poems/essays, even though I never comment.
    Laura R.
    (a friend of Joy Lynch/Lang)

    • Thank you so much Laura! I’m glad my words reminded you of your precious great-grandmother. There is a void here since my Granny passed but I’m ever grateful I got to spend so many moments with her throughout the decades.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s