Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Grandma



A tree falls in the forest.
I hear it

Sigh.

Grey knotted skin
tears.

Crack.

Brittle back
snaps.

The windstorm too much to withstand.
A young neighbour breaks the fall.

Held gently in fresh green boughs
Making room for new growth
It humbly passes.

I hear it.




An old woman dying in her bed.
I hold her

Gaze.

Clear eyes
 close.

Silence.

Shallow breath
 stops.

This life too long for weary bones.
Granddaughter strokes her hair.

Hands in hands
Clearing the way for the next generations
She silently passes.

I hold her.
My grandma.



With my grandma many years ago.



©Conni Cartlidge, 2014