Monday 23 May 2016

Memories of my Grandmother


In a drawer,
paper lined,
I saw the lace
that time
had gentled to
pale cream.

It reminds me
of you.

Powdered skin,
thinned with age,
a tracery
of lines,
the pattern
of joys, woes
and final
stasis.

Your fingers,
nimble almost
to the end,
that flew
over fine threads
creating webs
of patterns
that fashioned
your home,
and clothes.

Even then
you were a relic
of a bygone age.
Your heritage
preserved
despite nomadic
wanderings.

How strange
to find you
lingering still,
woven into
the fabric
of my

existence.

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