Marie Daniels


Grandad


Whistling through false teeth,
the sun dives in and out of clouds,
his mind replicating the juddering,
as he voices his thoughts out loud:

'I noticed just the other morning'
he sincerely reassures me,
'after that big pour of rain
the flowers shot up over night! '
Oohs and ahhs - beautiful pansies
and poppies. Grandad seems alright.

'Drink up your tea! ' It's been
ten years and he always forgets -
it goes cold. I repeat myself loudly,
he realises. He seems upset.

The sun!
It has come out from the clouds!
Grandad asks me about driving
and he tells me a funny story -
memory seems to be reviving.

The sun goes
back behind
the grey mess
off the sky and mind.

'Look, you see that plant over there? '
Yes grandad.
'After all the rain, it grew! '
Nan looks sad.
'Yes! It's a lovely plant! '
I exclaim rahter loudly,
I'd rather be having the same conversation
Than none at all - gladly!
The grey, dim sky continues.
Through his thick lenses, his bespeckled eyes,
stare as if to find the lost
days and memories in the skies.

But here
the sun
suddenly
appears!

Once again we laugh and we joke!
We eat and we talk about good times -
he tells me about when I was young;
I remember days when he was fine.
I can hear my nan in the kitchen
talking to my mother. She says
she can't take it anymore.
I feel paralysed. Grandad can't
hear them. I feel prickles
in my eyes.

The
clouds
are
back...
< br>
'So grandad! ' I say, to block out
what I can hear inside,
'Tomorrow, what a-' but
just when I thought my eyes had dried:
'-the rain the other night!
It came down and in the morning,
oh I got such a fright!
The flowers grew so much! '
Everyone ignores him.
Why wouldn't they? They've seen it all,
certainly heard it all,
I whisper 'grandad,
your flowers are
wonderful.'

Submitted: Tuesday, June 04, 2013
Edited: Friday, August 02, 2013

Form:


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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Sorry that this is a bad poem I just had to word how I felt.

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