the dying daffodils reminded me
of a long ago tended garden.
Each flower had a place
Reds on the left and yellow to the right
Granny pulled their heads off
and stomped on each stalk
frenetically each day she roamed
the rows of yellow daffodils
grandad could kill nothing,
not even a slug so he slunk
behind and gathered the leaves
tying them all together
with ribbons of concern
weeping as the willow by the pond.
I used to think granny hated
like hated every thing
but I think she was broken hearted
for the man she knew before
Grandad’s heart was aching
for all the men he’d known
who laid down their lives
in the war to end all wars
Granny played a lot of things
taking the role of winner
She hated the name granny
Preferring formal Grandmama
But I loved this statue of
ice cold tendrils
I was never scared like the others
She brought fear to every one
But I heard her pray once
For me and R and J
And for the two H’s in her life.
Two broken hearted people
Living in a box
Unable to talk or even to listen
Forever bound in silence
On reflection of the pond’s surface
Of a childhood long ago
The only way they could converse
Was having red on the left
And dying daffs on the right.
