Smoke rings and Silence

i want to meet your grandmother
and tell her how proud of you she should be.
i suspect she knows
that things are not as they always should have been.

the image of the wrinkled woman in her armchair,
steel blue and grey from years of weather,
nodding slowly as she recognizes what she
has always known.

rings of smoke surround her haloed head,
the yarn of her knitting
roughened by misuse,
a soft blanket becomes a sturdy chair cover.
she grasps it with a wizened hand,
worrying the threads with her warning fingers.

your grandmother is a mother twice removed;
she can see the reality of things
from a perspective we can only imagine
and long for.
she may give or receive advice or words as she chooses,
or say nothing
and teach us to learn on our own.

she rests, secure
in the knowledge that her grandchild
will make the same mistakes,
that some things never change,
but that maybe, we are better off this way.

8 may 2009