Generations Passing

Generations Passing

I remember now, the first time I noticed.

She was stooping low,

But not bowed.

It was the stoop

Of an old woman.

Her laughter was the same,

But her eyes

Had the ancestors in them now,

I remembered that look from PawPaw

And marveled that it had come

So soon to her.

Maybe she had summoned them

With her gait,

Moving swift as a youngster.

Her gray hair recounted every sorrow

Born in sleepless nights,

Waiting on prodigal children

Who did not understand

What power

She possessed.

Counting every sin against her,

Youth slipped away into the bend in her back,

Heavy with grief

That is only eased

With tears and shouting.

Her gardens became paradise,

A way to survive in the winter

While she cultivated her soul.

The dirt was her best friend.

Her students thought her brilliant—

She is, but not from books

As they supposed.

Her wisdom

Comes from the ages

Of listening

Being listening to

Stopping her ears

When she could stand no more.

She complained, but not whining.

Life deserved a good complaint.

She knew the lyrics to the song

Sang it a few times

Revised it for her children.

I remember now, the first time I noticed.

© 1995 Valerie Bridgeman [Davis]
This poem appears in the award-winning collection, In Search of Warriors Dark and Strong and Other Poems