Faces are like complex metaphors
Happy like a child’s
first solo bicycle ride,
Or grim like Patty the parrot
buried in the backyard,
Treacherous like frozen ice
on your doorstep,
or innocent like a ticklish cackle.
Faces are like dreams
altering reality, and
reality altering dreams.
Playing my life in reverse
I see a fanfare of
Yours is a face I see over and over.
Your skin so light as if bleached by time
And your silver hair so thin
I can feel The ebb and flow of blood
in your scalp.
In my dream you are always wobbling
toward me unsteady like a ship
wavering side to side.
School’s just out and I am running to you
with outstretched arms eager to run into your
embrace like a hungry seagull.
But then like always
I wake up.
If faces are like metaphors, then
the memory of yours is like a quilt;
with it’s comforting familiarity.
I pull it over me like a tent
and sleep in its dream-like embrace.
5 thoughts on “Grandma’s face…”
Now that I’m a grandma this has so much meaning.
An artful homage to your Grandma, and it reminds me that my face is soon becoming the roadmap of all the joy and sorrow of the spiritual journey.
What more can one ask for!
I hope your know your grandmother is smiling. 🙂
She is prolly a tiny baby somewhere now. God bless!