Mohair Yarn

A Poem by Cristina Moldoveanu

a story poem about one of my grandmothers

the sewing machine was snoring every day

in that room with yellow curtains and quince scent

there were apple blossoms in a vase

or plates filled with home made pastry

she was a thin old woman with small steps

leaving only soft paw traces

over the snow in my thoughts

garrulous sparrows were flitting at the window

she was driving them away with her arms

covered in a gray mohair shawl

the same each winter

smiling through lime flower tea steam

whispering stories about eternal ice

placing plums and orange skins to wither

like water lilies on the terracotta stove

I was sticking to her dress closer each day

she used to comb my hair with her hands

softer than apricot jam

I was wearing her long beads reaching my belly

stealing veils from the closet

adorning myself in the mirror

she said I was like Mary Stuart a queen without a kingdom

for me she was a fairy hiding in the May cherry tree

smiling and blooming white

wiping her hands on her apron

giving away many morellos to the street children

we were both grinding pepper and cinnamon

rolling little doughnuts

taking out kernels from small bitter cherries

drop after drop thread after thread and slowly

times went by her patience was growing

like a gold filigree

at night I was falling asleep

with my too heavy head over her too large heart

one day she said it was hurting her

it was the first time when I cried

because I loved her

© 2012 Cristina Moldoveanu

Author's Note

I really loved so much my grandmother, this poem is filled with nostalgia.

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Reviews

Shimmerbliss/CAF

Beautifully filled with nostalgia! There is so much tenderness in this and you paint an adoring picture of this precious woman you loved. Thank you for sharing these thoughts that make me think of my own grandmother...funny how that works, isn't it? :)