Wednesday, June 6, 2012

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

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