When Grandmother Died

When grandmother died

my mother's siblings announced it  through pre-paid

phone cards and static

 

the time was closer to midnight

on our side of the world,

while to their wakeful quick speech

it was obvious the equator

on the opposite side

already teemed hot with mosquitoes

 

and mail-order brides would stay indoors

 

My mother wept her loss

with her statuettes of angels

and Mary wearing her rosaries with child

as curls and wires and mouth

of the landline phone

caught her tears

 

and fear saw her face,

as she woke me from dreams of dead fathers

teaching me American pasttimes

with balls swinging away

from the heaviest wooden sticks

half my size,

I was frustrated in that game

as I am now

 

pulled down with my mother beside

her bed,

on catholic bended knee

to pray with purple hands clasped

to chin, chanting and wishes as

sensation left the blood

whispering nothings for God to help

 

I did not understand for the first

painstaking minutes of mother's agony

her cries to heaven so raw

and eyes tortured red from weeping

but once a moments reprieve allowed her

to breathe

she shuddered an explanation

 

I was use to reacting without instruction

but my pause was too long

and decided to follow her lead

with crocodile tears from a long puppy-sad face

I innocently begin the sniffling...

 

For mother did not see

I did not know nor vaguely remember grandmother

not what so ever

 

no warm feelings

of cookies peanut butter

chocolate-chips baking in pearl shiny stoves

nor stories of true morality is

on candle-lit nights on rocking chairs

in that Norman Rockwell American porch

in the south,

this is how I remember through media-care

what a grandmother should be

 

but my grandmother is not like that

or anything even similar

 

I have no way to reference her

unless like M.A.S.H. look-alike to their women,

she would be elderly in drab green

hunched over, an oriental grey-haired tiny lady

with a walking stick

bulbous and of mohagony

except her skin is pale and she is skinny

 

When I ask mother what she was like

immediately she begins to plan to book a flight

the summer trip to pay respects

to a woman's death

whom I never knew

 

Paying respect cost me my savings

 

It's only right, mother tells me

it will return tenfold

but  I had no calculation to the sum

of my father's dessertion and love

but I signed its release

because a good son

is an angel of obedience

to his mom

respect is given when we give

of ourself that which is precious

because God said so

mother said

 

To my agreeable  heart was returned

a slip of Monopoly fancy paper money

mother called it a check

it had its worth written in calligraphy,

other than that--it felt worthless to me

empty and light as a feather

the gift of fathers leaving

 

still, it made mother happy

glowing and fauning on me

how wonderful and blessed she was

to have a son

who is good

who listens

who is considerate

 

We fly across infinite waves of sea

which I slept upon in dreams most of the way

 

I met the other family finally

on the other side of the world

completely alien they were new to me,

every cousin and aunt and uncle

approached like shy church-going virgins

to lay hands on the luck of

and is made of

the good son

 

It was the last thing that this good son did

without hesitation with the kindness of his heart

 

for when he gave

nothing was tenfold to return

because he was the golden calf

they take-take-taken from him

pieces of precious

he and I learned that summer

to live like an open book

is to have the world and it's hunger

paint graffiti inside of me

like walls of wailing neighbors' hoods

between the colors

 

I have written

and now understood

the revelations the voice

of reason

the process

staying true to who I am

just a man who tries to be good

to all things give respect

believe in love

accept and never expect

if not completely

take control... then let go.

 

When grandmother died

I lived

i Grew

I wept

from what is now understood.

Life and how I knew.

 

Reviews

[Amy Black]

"to live like an open book

is to have the world and it's hunger

paint graffiti inside of me"

That is so true. I have never heard it put better.

[Pauline Marie Daley]

I started reading this, and was instantly swept to your side, and I didn't leave you until the very last word. Beautiful piece! :-)

[Michael Handel]

Uhhhm........speechless....just, absolutely speechless. One of the best poems I've read in a while. Wow!

[Lorrie]

I truly loved this

One of the best!

[Disa Sig]

Wow, it almost made me cry in the beginning. Love the lines where you describe your mothers reaction through the phone.
It was like a little glimpse into the story of your life.

I was very impressed!