Weight of Memory
On the shelf
of the thrift store,
of other lives,
cracked and lined,
and I am in
when she was likely
as young as I
am now, and I was
hardly old enough
onto the chair alone.
We drank tea from
She gave me little gloves
she kept in a drawer
of the hutch.
Lace and buttons.
Tea in flowered cups.
My knotty hand
can hardly lift it up,
it weighs that much.
Though she never gave me gloves, my grandmother and I drank tea together when I was small too using her china. She trusted a clumsy child.ReplyDelete
what a beautiful moving poem,ReplyDelete
Wonderful work, simple and emotional. She sounds like an elegant lady.ReplyDelete
Memories wait for release such as this. You have given the weight wings. Beautiful writing Karen.ReplyDelete
Bravo! Beautiful. Absolutely stunning.ReplyDelete
Such lovely memories of sharing tea as a child! We must keep this precious tradition alive for our daughters and beyond.ReplyDelete
i have arthritis, i know how that feelsReplyDelete
"Knotty hands" is very telling and poignant.ReplyDelete
perfectly precious in every way... the childlike touch of one's grandmother makes one sigh.... ** sigh**ReplyDelete
you speak memories so very wellReplyDelete
it almost seemed like a silent telling, as if you told it with your eyes. quite lovely