grandmothers

Poem of the Day, July 10th, 2022

when poetry paints with words to bring that ache to our hearts

Locution/Location, by Divya Victor

But when this song stills, where shall we dig

us grandmotherless fools

us rudderless, us letterpoor

with drum and dread

where shall we dig

haitch, haitch, haitch

for this shibboleth of breath?

Grandmotherless we are, and grandmother I have become, surprisingly and awesomely. 

I never really felt grandmothered, not in the way my kids and my grandkids do. My grandmothers were fun and fascinating - and not very interested in children. By the time I was an adult, I foolishly moved far away from them.

My grandmother-in-law was sweet, very interested in all the children, and true to herself in her simple faith and love.

The connection my kids have to their Grammie still surprises me and makes me happy, and the one they have started with another Grandma has its riches. 

I am the current link between Florence, Beatrice, and Bernice, born close to 1900, and those coming along who will live until close to 2100. Red Rover, Red Rover....

The gifts are deep and sweet. And the rendering asunder is the bitter.

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Of course West Wing has an appropriate clip. When does it not? Season 2, Episode 8: "Shibboleth." Well, related, anyhow.

and one more: Grandfathers