Today's little poem is about my grandmother, who took me into her care when I was two years old and guided me until I was 18 ... when I went into military service ... and even beyond. I still feel that gentle hand in the small of my back.
Times were not just hard, but really tough, requiring frugality with those few material things which came her way. Still, those circumstances seemed to inspire in her an exceeding generosity.
She knew that others had needs greater than hers. She accepted the fact that her good works might be received without thanks.
And she didn't talk much about "those distant places," but I know she dreamed about them sometimes, especially those where her children were.
She did get to visit them, but she never got to be there, as she would say, never got to "pull up and settle down" there.
It was simply not to be. And she accepted that, too. How I love her, for all the things she taught me ... for all the butterflies she pointed out to me ... and paused to watch with me.
And now, the poem:
DELIA'S DREAM
How she'd say
nothing is ever lost,
meaning wasted,
pieces of string,
each carefully coiled,
or a rubber band
snapped around her wrist,
her good works received
without thanks,
and thoughts,
especially thoughts
of those distant places
where she dreamed things
were better, where she
hoped to be someday,
but never was.
© 1997
(originally published in Riverrun)
***
Today's word: guided
Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:
Thank you, Helen, for those kind words about the poem ... and for that insight on economic boundaries ... about being "wealthy in many ways," in spite of those material restrictions ... a lesson for us all.
3 comments:
I think we had the same grandmother :) Mine remains to this day, one of the most beautiful souls I have ever known. If all she had was coffee in her cupboard, you better believe she offered you a cup with a smile. If I tried to help her out she declined each time saying others didn't even have a home and she could do just fine with coffee and toast and a roof over her head, thank you.
Now that I've been thrust into a frugal life, I am so glad for what I learned from her. If I have nothing but bluebirds' songs to wake me, sunshine streaming through the windows, clean water from a tap, I know I am deeply blessed more than many people in the world without a home or clean water. When I am hungry, I consider there are others who have no meal at all for days on end.
And while I don't have a phone, I feel blessed to have internet service, so I can email and surf all over the world through my computer. And read beautiful stories and poems, like yours about your grandmother. What a legacy she's left - to you, and to each of us, your readers. In this way, she continues to cheer hearts :)
This is a wonderful poem. I'm always short on good adjectives, but it is very touching...and Featherdpines, (name right? It seems I can't go back and be sure I won't lose this.) you and I have reached the same economic boundaries, I think, but are indeed wealthy in many ways, and isn't it a good feeling to realize and accept it. You are a powerful writer and brought tears to my eyes on the last lines.
Again, thanks, Bob for the gift of your poetry. Helen
Dear Helen, your words made my night! Thank you! Don't you find it is living frugally - even by surprise - that discloses what our true blessings are in life :)
This is one reason I love Mr. Brimm's poetry. He writes about everyday things that are anything but everyday. He shares what is special about things many overlook and gives them imagery and music with his "chosen words."
I stopped at your journal and see you have only one entry. I hope you will write more, I would love to stop by and visit and read your work :) - Kelly
Post a Comment