looked like an interloper, the opposite
of a miracle, deader than dead.
There's no way it could know
how you danced and sang all your long life
with an overflowing glass of wine
perched on top of your head,
your way into your grave,
until someone at the graveside
sang you out into a new day
of your old ways.
Afterwards, we watched
old videos of you dancing,
always a glass on your head,
when you were young,
when you were old,
at your own wake.
I smiled, pictured the glass on the head. Great sense of time and its mutability in this, Efi.
ReplyDeletenice work
ReplyDeleteThank you, Sarah and Anna.
ReplyDeleteThis is lovely Efi. It reminded of this piece I wrote for some friends on the death of their grandmother. I thought you might enjoy it. XM
ReplyDeleteOld School
Grandmothers are old school
you know that dance they do
the boney maroni
the loop the loop
they do the shopping cart
they do the sprinkler
they hip
and they hop
they do the mashed potato
they shimmy
and they shake
and they can twist like nobody’s business
grandmothers have music curled in their ears
they do that cane thing tap
tap tap and they wear their shoes
Grandmothers
you just know that they know
how to dance
OH! (sob) tears of joy...the mashed potato! I haven't heard that one for yonks! and the great line "grandmothers have music curled in their ears" is so obviously true and funny only you could come up with it, Mikaela. Thanks!
ReplyDeleteI wrote the poem above so that it could be read as being about anyone/any gender/culture but in truth it's about one of my family's oldest friends, who comes from a Greek family that made and played a particular type of rare musical instrument (like a small bouzouki) for many generations. All my life, Antonis sang and danced (often with my dad - they were the highlight of family parties/community gatherings, and mesmerisingly Anatolian!). Such grace. One of nature's gentlemen.
a nice eulogy
ReplyDelete