My Grandma and I
My Grandma and I in common we had
A previously indiscernible and invisible thread
Who would have thought when her heart made her dead
I’d be taking the challenge to continue the thread
Of weaving in rhyme bits and pieces around
The people and stories I face on the ground
The ground being taken in a broad sort of sense
Including virtual - not just touchable intense
That’s how it’s emerged, I’m pretty convinced,
Spurned on by love and hope she so sadly missed
The love of her Brother so cruelly taken
By the swine of Katyn, by commies partaken
She already gave up her own studies for them
Dionizy and Jerzy – the other one’s name
Cometh the war with Dyzio away
She will never properly recover from pain
Giving up poetry and innocent laughter
In view of befallen, shattering disaster
Committing her life entirely to offspring
Knew how to unfold and keep running the string
Sad as she was deep in her soul
Knew how to be a marvellous Pole
She wrote in her twenties, I in my fifties
Knitting and weaving my own little ditties
In different abodes and in different language
Hoping it’s not just any old garbage
Rhythm in dance, rhythm with word
Spiced and enriched by sharp lemon curd
Guided by rhythm my poetic musings
Don’t always emerge as spontaneous oozings
Delighted I am the biology strain
Passed on to me has not died in vain
Uncovered by love I missed long ago
Love is an art allowing to glow
Amen!