To My Grandmother

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