My Maternal Grandmother

She embodied contentment.

Day 8: I am grateful for my grandmother.

Grandmother's House

The old house, emptied
of Grandmother's presence,
sinks slowly into a spirit

of disrepair,
welcoming comfort
from the scurry of field mice
and the coo of doves,

whose eerie song spooks
nerves of the living,
who are alone
in this darkened house,

searching.

Searching for essence
of Grandmother. With tender
longing, we breathe her scent
on dresses left hanging,
shoes left below.

Waiting for her return,
for her to slip into them
and walk away,

longing to be useful
once more.

In the kitchen, pots and pans
also wait, barren,
wanting biscuits to rise and swell
again like pregnant tummies full
of hope, affirming life.

Only stillborn memories survive
as the old house
slips quietly into disrepair.