Watering the roses

I remember you in those final years
I would come and see you
Never as often as I should
But as often as I could
I remember the smells in the ward
And your tired face transformed
To radiance as you smiled
And held out your hand to greet me
I think you were the last
To love me unconditionally
If you had a good day and the sun was out
We'd pull out the wheelchair
And go outside for a while
Big dark glasses to protect your sensitive eyes
Face turned up to drink in the sun
I would hold your hand
Carefully so as not to bruise
Your skin paper thin and crinkly
We had coffee and a chat
I made sure to take mine
In a delicate china cup
Always with a saucer
Not a simple mug
Because I knew you hated
That sippy cup they brought for you
And you missed your beautifully
Set dinner table with all the trimmings
When I was young and stupid
I would scoff at your materialism
Now I know it was your way
To redeem yourself after
Those years in utter poverty
When you served rich
Ladies who never knew
The person behind the apron
I remember you in those final months
When I would sit at your bedside
Your words in fits and starts
As you closed your eyes and
Rested in between sentences
It was strangely peaceful
To hear you tell of cows and pigs
And people you had loved
Your sharp wit still intact
We laughed a lot
In spite of everything
As time slowed and stretched
To a point where your mind
Could wander freely back and forth
Disregarding the bed that
Held your body
And when you were gone
It was kind of a relief
To know the struggle ended
And there was no more pain
Your face so still and serene
When I kissed you that final time
But I miss you more than I ever
Knew I could
And you are with me as
I water the rose that came
From your garden, given to
You from your mother's mother
Maybe my daughter will
Look after it next.




Poetry by Åsa Andersson
Read 1001 times
Written on 2014-08-02 at 07:32

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This is so touching I must bookmark:)
2014-08-02



I loved every word of this poem as you remember with so much love and understanding. So much insight into her feelings. I wish I had had times like that with my mother. The details of your caring, the smell of the ward, the dainty coffee cup, the care while holding her hand--careful not to bruise. The loves comes through as beautiful as your words.
2014-08-02



I would scoff at your materialism
Now I know it was your way
To redeem yourself after
Those years in utter poverty
When you served rich
Ladies who never knew
The person behind the apron

that was my favourite part
how to heal the materialism of others
if not in getting rich too
2014-08-02


Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
This is of the highest quality. Recreates a world of thought of heart and soul for readers of discernment .
2014-08-02