(am)
My Middle Name = My Grandmother
My grandmother is
an old picture
of a young woman:
stories of a rebellious teen
in a small prairie town.
She is a chess trophy
kept under the sink,
and piano medals
in little boxes
in my father’s top drawer,
a ring I stole
from my mother
because
I felt it was rightfully mine.
My grandmother is
other people’s memories
living on
only in
my name.
an old picture
of a young woman:
stories of a rebellious teen
in a small prairie town.
She is a chess trophy
kept under the sink,
and piano medals
in little boxes
in my father’s top drawer,
a ring I stole
from my mother
because
I felt it was rightfully mine.
My grandmother is
other people’s memories
living on
only in
my name.
Anastasia Erika White
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Really love this poem…it has such a warm tone to it.
Sounds like you have more insight to our Grandmother than I, even tho you never met her, possibly resulting from your father’s positive thoughts towards her. Very nicely done.
Thanks, slpmartin. I scrolled through your blog, you have some great poems. I particulary enjoyed “no forwarding address”.
Dawn – Between Dad, Aunty Edna & Walter i was able to piece together a bit of a picture of her. Of our grandfather I know little other than he made violins, played the fiddle, and was the last milk man in Vancover to use clydesdale horses.
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