Friday, December 9, 2016

My Grandmother's Pot - Day 8 - Sara Dowse

In Chicago
a yellow room
high up
far away
far ahead
my grandmother’s pot.

My grandmother couldn’t 
climb stairs
or eat chocolate
or drive a car
or take salt

she read books
sewed by hand
attended concerts
and Hadassah
if they met
on the ground floor

yet late in life 
she started making pots

I was far away
and never saw one
until that night

when I held one
cradled it
like a buttercup
in the palm of my hand
as if it were fragile
like a buttercup

still, it will, 
it has endured
reached heights
my grandmother could never climb
and speaks about the beauty
she saw

from a distance.


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