At Granny's
John Clare Stokes
Pappa she kept tightly in the urn upon the mantle place
Great Granny's wooden leg propped open the bedroom breezeway
Nights I'd try and get to sleep quickly
Before granny came shuffling in with cold cream on her face
Through the cracks and chinks the wind whispered
Who is that lying in the feathered bed
Do we hold a wake for another now dead
Now it's just the wind I was assured.
Then from the Florida room a fiddle
Upon the cool hard pine floor a tapping
Someone in there an old rhythm keeping
I dared not wake to peek in.
By morning rooster waking I asked
Granny did you enjoy last nights company
She smiled and dipped some Tube Rose slowly
Went about the early days tasks humming
Seems we weren't in this place by ourselves
I eventually grew accustomed to pappa Urn on the shelf
Great granny letting in the cool wind to warm by the hearth
Never invited but I eventually looked
Forward to the midnight fiddling to begin.
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