When my paternal grandmother died…

By: ailsaandlisa

Oct 01 2011

Category: poem

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Focal Length:39mm
Shutter:1/0 sec

I thought of what I wouldn’t miss.
The list ran very much like this:
her worship of Mrs Margaret Thatcher;
her weird obsession with my dad; her

bend-and-stretching to Rondo alla Turca
(looking after herself she was a tireless worker);
the flashes of her satin bloomers;
seeing mum cry over the sprouts at Christmas;

sitting in silence on endless Sundays,
picking with a cake fork at buttercream sponges
that left you hungrier than before.
When I last saw her in her vinyl chair,

she made a wish for my unborn child: that
she hoped very much it wouldn’t be fat.
The thirteenth fairy at the feast.
My smiling beauty was spared that, at least.

When Grandma died I was sad for my dad
to have lost the mother he’d never had.
I felt sad for myself for a day, or a few.
And then I lost the sadness too.


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