The Essence of Old Lace, Grandmother’s and Moth Balls

My grandmother
My grandmother, “Bigmother.”

The abandoned home of my grandmother’s bred too many spiders.

But, hiding on the window seal were her Earthly treasures.

And, going to the alter, of her lasting thoughts,

I placed one hand on her Bible and the other on my heart.

Closing my eyes and feeling that time, knew we were not apart…

My grandmother then spoke to me, and said, “I’m so proud of you, as you are, a work of art.”

So, I breathed the moment in reverence of her lovely essence

And departed with a smile knowing ~ She was supernaturally present…

How Many More Breaths

My grandmother
My grandmother

Time

tick-tock; tic- tock; tick, tick, tick.

Time.

WHY?

Nursing homes, memory units, family dispersed.

They ran when my hair turned silver and I smelled of urine.

Oh, this is The United States ~ who else in the world would leave?

What, a silly question,  after all, it was us the free-love generation who started this nonsense.

Really, in truth, we were the “me” generation. Misnamed. The irony makes me laugh.

We called our kids this. They were the product of the all consuming need to be free.

Mom and Dad split, time, after time, after time, all for the image of freedom.

“They’ll get over it.”

Yes, they have and assuredly ~

One plus one equals two. And, two times two equals four.

Physical laws don’t change without the atom bomb.

And, now is waiting.

Waiting, on my clock.

Quietly it tick-tocks; tick-tocks, tick, tick, ticks …

God, how many more breaths must I take?