Grandma

                   1  
Do you remember me, Grandma,
you who in your aged blindness,
never saw my boyish face,
but knew my voice;
and touching me with your feeble hands,
would marvel at how much I had grown?

                   2
Yes, Grandma, I remember you
in all your aged splendour,
especially when standing by your knee
you would draw your black purse from your black bag
resting on your black apron,
and thoughtfully fondle the coins.

                   3
Do you remember, Grandma,
how polite and studied I was, when,
holding out a coin you would ask:
“How much is that?” And I would tell you?
Well Grandma, it was unbearable
while you fondled two and six.

                   4
Yes, Grandma I remember
how, when you came to stay,
you would sit to the front in your blindness
“taking the sea air”.
And I especially remember your aloneness
in not being able to see,
that beautiful view.

                   5
Do you remember, Grandma,
those long slow walks to the chapel,
when, all in black and resting on my arm,
and supported by your black stick,
I would guide you on and off the pavement,
and around the many obstacles, until we got there?

                   6
Yes, Grandma, I remember.
And did you ever wonder how I,
a small boy, who liked to leap about the rocks
had the patience for the slow pace?
Or, of how others saw me leading you!
“A case of the blind leading the blind”?

                   7
Do you remember, Grandma,
what we talked about in those timeless moments?
That Grandma is the one thing I can’t remember,
save when by the Salmon Leap you asked to rest;
and I, faced with a choice of three seats, asked:
“Which seat would you like to sit on, Grandma?”

                   8
Yes, Grandma, I remember
how you laughed and said:
“Why! On my own seat of course!”
And how I, sitting there beside you, wondered
about Grandma’s having a sense of humour,
until it was time to guide you safely home.

                   9
And what Grandma might we have talked about
had I not been still in my innocence,
but a philosopher, seeking out the truth.
Might we have talked about the anvil of life
on which you, Grandma were forged,
and which left you dignified in old age.

                  10
But Grandma, it was not decreed
that you and I should exchange such confidences,
but that I should know you only as Grandma,
and be content with that, as you had to be,
in not knowing the anvil of life, on which I,
like you, would be forged.

                  11
So I remember you, Grandma,
Frail, vulnerable, and in your own home,
sitting in the corner by the kitchen fire.
And in your eighties, and in your blindness,
never ever idle, but knitting socks,
and gently pestering them to, “turn the heel.”

                  12
Do you remember, Grandma,
the cutlery they brought by the bowl
for you to wash. And the sheets you helped fold.
And how, in the quiet of the afternoon,
you would lilt, or sing hymns to Mary,
as mother’s sing lullabies to their children?

                  13
Yes, Grandma, I remember,
the sacredness of that moment, when,
in your frailty, the priest brought communion.
And of how you would sometimes fret,
if Kathleen was too long at the shops.
And of how Kathleen would fret, about you, fretting.

                  14
Do you remember, Grandma,
my taking your picture, as you sat,
proud and erect in the “back parlour”.
The last before age took its final toll.
A picture that captured the essence:
Your strength, courage and alertness?

                  15
I remember, Grandma,
because I can see it without looking.
You all in black, and your white hair
quaffed and bedecked with crescent combs.
And those curious black glasses,
that far from dimming, gave lustre to your features.

                  16
And if I may speak out of turn, Grandma.
And as someone who never heard
a cross word pass your lips.
The lovely thing about that photograph is,
that you are still clutching that black bag,
as it rests, open, on your black apron.

__________
Poem revosed, 22nd April 2006
© Cormac McCloskey


Note: This blog, "Grandma" was first published on Windows Live Spaces, by me, on 3rd January 2006. This picture of Grandma, (age 90), sitting in the Back Parlour at the family home: "Tierconnell Hotel", Foyle St, Derry, N. Ireland, was taken by me, with a "box camera", in 1958.