Below is a poem I wrote for my grandmother as a Christmas present this year. This goes along with the series I've been doing for important people in my life, starting with my mother, father, and sister. --- Steve
To My Grandmother…
The process of going to Mommom’s
Like the old suitcase used to say
Is a sequence of slight, gentle moves
The turn down the long used-to-be-dirt but now-partly-paved lane
The bend passed the barn
And the quick assessment of vehicles
To guess who might already be there
The farm, a mixture of fragrances (chickens, horses, and something that seems to change every time)
Hits the nostrils
While getting out of your car
And walking to the cement patio,
Up the brick steps and into the closed-in porch
Which typically gives the first hints of what might be cooking (or just cooked)
In her kitchen, the first room entered, the one where she is master and commander
Caretaker and socializer
You greet her first with a kiss and a hug,
And she greets you with, “Have you eaten?”
Or some approximation thereof
And you say no (even if you have)
Because even her tuna fish sandwiches are phenomenal
Washing it all down with her sweet tea
That doesn’t taste like any other tea you have tried
And you have tried a lot of them
The ensuing conversation
Had in-between her washing, wiping, sweeping in the kitchen
Takes you back to the summer you lived with her
She, newly widowed
You, home from college
Staying with her because family said she would need you
But, it is you who were in need, and you didn’t even know it
In need of knowledge and revelation
Because you learned what it is
To be strong
To keep on
To set life in motion
With the everyday things like cooking and chores
The solace of a neat living space
The routine of family care
All of it
The daily fragments that hold up the tapestry of life
Giving it something sturdy and true from which to spring forward
