Posts Tagged With: grandma

By Themselves

if people are trees then they are most likely to be pear trees
their fruit is at the height of the noon sun with sweet juice
they too fall by themselves
grubby or not with small and soft seeds because man breaks himself
dropping down on the ground with smoothened teeth and bones
he melts like honeycomb

at my grandma’s funeral
she looked as if she lost her wrinkles in the coffin
her forehead smiled to the winter sun like water from an ice hole
when we got back from the cemetery we didn’t recognize
her old and black umbrella standing in the corner of the bedroom
everyone wondered  why it was there

from one hand to another we shared the wheat porridge
and the clothes and the memories gathering new meanings
it was colder
maybe a small painted angel cried in the icon above the stove

one morning I saw a rainbow
it lasted all along the road until the sky was untied from the earth

Categories: My Poems in 2015 | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

returning home

beyond the trees surrounding the house it was more light
but for me the sun in my grandma’s eyes was enough
I cut with the knife the top of the boiled egg
spinning together round that golden core
with the silver teaspoon from my father’s baptism

there were too few butterflies
for the many flowers grandma brought on the table
some of them embroidered on handkerchiefs
others on my hats
placed there with her hands soft as apricot jam
smelling like naphthalene and purple lilac
picked when the rain stopped
in the color of fairy tale books drawings

more and more pigeons flew over our heads
from the attic with windows without windowpanes
there fell shadow over shadow from imprisoned wings
from love growing
like a quarrel between seasons

as I got closer to her shoulders
taller than the mailbox from the front gate
higher than the lime tree sapling in the street
little by little I was leaving towards a stranger place
to capture the sunset in the small basket lined with tinfoil
where grandma left a few dry cakes
sprinkled with sugar

Categories: My Poems in 2014 | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

Grandma’s Roses

When I was just a little girl I used to sit with my grandma looking at old photos, listening to her stories filling with magic those long and tedious autumn and winter evenings when it was slowly raining or snowing. She had maybe three albums and stories for each photo.
Many years passed since that day. Few photos are left for me to remember today those stories. One of them was her favorite photo…she was telling me many times that when she was 16 ( she was born in 1911) she went to a ball and a kind of jury appreciated her original dress with fabric roses hand made. She made it with her own hands because she was talented, especially gifted for making different dresses or costumes. I still have that photo, although now it is deteriorated, I lost the albums somewhere in time, moving from one place to another. When I look at this photo I feel as if my childhood memories were running again in my dreams. Grandma’s roses and her love for flowers, the way she used to cut fresh branches with flowers in spring, decorating our room, the fact that she was taking out snowdrops from the garden in February, placing them in a pot, to see them blooming early in the house and many other beautiful moments.
I wrote a haiku to match the photo:

quiet rain —
grandma’s ball gown slipped out
from black album pages

Categories: Memories | Tags: , , , | 6 Comments

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