An Apostrophe for Grandmother

to the woman who told me

of the song of the rain:

 the tap-tap-tap, as it falls

from the grey sky;

and of the sleeping flower

finally waking.

The melody of your humming:

Us both beneath that tree,

The song you were singing—

My first memory.

You never heard but you had listened,

Lovingly, intently through the end.

A child you care for asking for food,

Will blurt it out; you understood.

Now you’re asleep, quiet, at peace—

Surprising all, as we ponder this.

The song had stopped, so did the humming.

A pining, a void, opened before long.

I won’t despair—you’re in God’s hands,

Humming your song with angelic bands.

I say my thanks and my good-night.

Night-night Grandmother. Sleep you tight.

Perspective

(Photo taken from the Facebook account of my cousin Mike)

Let me be like you: the child-like calm

On your lovely face. Your little palm

Open to raindrops, your pink tongue out

For candy bars that Mommy sings about.

I have learned to despise the rainfall,

Because it’s a hindrance, after all.

My shoes get drenched, my body cold

Umbrella sways despite my firm hold.

I look at you, and I’m hit hard. Squarely.

I mope, whereas you are perfectly happy.

A smile lights up your eyes; your face is split,

Whereas I’m at the end of my wits.

I take a leaf from your book, little one.

Henceforth I will do as you have done.

When the rain comes to my life again,

I will welcome it with my arms open.

 

When blue skies turn to grey,

When I wake up to a rainy day,

Help me not to languish, mope or pout—

Of the fact that I cannot have a nice day out.