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Poetry

Scattered Reflections of Grandma's House

Posted by kristenwillms@knights.ucf.edu on August 7, 2016 at 3:00 AM

Roses in the front yard…

Smoke from the BBQ in the backyard…

Seen through our youthful eyes,

It was never enough.

We would giggle at the potential,

As we sat on the couch and wondered,

That the Blues could lead to Hope.

 

As Grandpa’s car drove over the gravel

And hit every pot hole in the pavement.

The engine would hiss as it shut down

In the driveway, on the side of the house.

Then the Door would squeal

To cause all to glance in its direction,

To see Grandma in her new glasses.

 

We would balance on our nose

Robin feathers, fallen from

The backyard tree he claimed,

Trying to keep them from falling off.

These were the games of youth, that

We labored at in those summer days.

 

When we were blessed with sun

Hiding in the bush was, well,

A good thing.

The dog longing to reach the neighbor’s cat.

I would bare-handle it back to its home

Where one could see the heather in the yard.

 

In the evening, the crickets would sing

As we listened to the remote voices from the park

Up the street as they speak of baseball;

Pitcher breaking in a new glove,

Cleats ripping up the sod,

The skill of the swing.

…All in the falling darkness of twilight.

 

Drama, as the autumn leaves browned-

Death was on the landscape.

There was no scene from earlier to prepare us,

To make it disappear behind

A Magicians handkerchief

Or like leaves from the branches.

 

Adults yelling “Watch the children!”

What a spectacle they made!

As the mourners cast dull eyes

In their direction

And the leaves wanted to join in too

Flying in through the doors,

Into the living room to flutter near

Great Grandma’s coffin

Where she lay smiling.

I would rather see her

Dancing again.

 

I was just a girl when the shadows

Would make leaps into the future.

We were just kids as the shadows

Pushed us toward the future.

We were young.

 

Nights in my Apartment-

Remembering, as evening lingers,

While listening to the old 45s

And wonder at this time of love.

Unforgettable yet forgotten,

Time marched, bringing to an end the

Patented cries from the past that

Made it true.

 

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