Grandma Kaye by Jeff Thatch

It’s not a lot,

this house doesn’t need many decorations.

just one strand of lights

the big colorful glass bulbs

(Red, blue, orange, yellow, green)

glow in the plunging darkness of a cold Wyoming night

the green cord, a yuletide snake, winds itself along the handrail

illuminating a way to the big green door,

a shiny gold handle stands as a beacon

 

the door opens 

she stands in the frame, 

her white hair permed, 

the shiny gold glasses catch and reflect light from the house across the street,

an apron around her waist, always a clean apron

a welcoming smile on a wrinkled face

 

her arms open, 

an invitation to a warm embrace

a deep breath brings a crisp, icy chill to the lungs

the unwavering scent of sugar beets fills the air, 

chased by the smell of cookies

the child runs to his grandmother

“home sweet home,”

she is home…

 

Summer now,

dad is gone a lot, work has him far away

the child is alone,

but, 

he is not alone

she is there

every night,

a song,

“bushel and a peck, and a hug around the neck…”

the child experiences true, unbridled, unconditional love

 

there are many more happy memories made as the years pass,

she’s always there to give support and love;

high school graduation, college graduation, the merry holidays and happy birthdays in between

 

then,

she’s alone, her husband has passed

the child is far away, trying to grow up and build a life

the child calls sometimes,

not often enough

he knows this, 

but life…

 

then, 

she’s gone.

 

the child mourns

he thinks of her often,

her green box of recipes a constant reminder;

of home.

of the embraces.

of the love.

it’s not a lot,

but it’s enough.

 

Biography: To me, poetry is more than just words on a page; it serves as a powerful tool, capable of dissecting the complexities of the human experience and transforming them into tangible pictures using language. It offers support in times of turbulence, insight in moments of reflection, and beauty in the ordinary. Through poetry, I find a fortress of solitude, where I can navigate the depths of my soul (the light and the dark) and express the indescribable with clarity and dexterity. Poetry is an art form that speaks directly to the heart, transcending barriers of time, culture, and circumstance. In essence, poetry is my refuge and the window that allows people to look inside and see the real me.