grandmother 1

Great Grand Love


She was born in nineteen hundred,
And never grew taller than five feet
In her ninety two years.
She had three special pipes,
One she smoked from frequently
Which was kept in her turban.

Always quick to smile,
Blue rimed pupils sparkling
With nine decades of good vision.
In the mornings at four,
She would begin pounding
Coffee grains in the mortar.

Then boil one strong black pot,
Adding half of a coconuts milk
And sweetening it with cane sugar.
Sitting by the kitchen door,
Drinking two mugs hot and slow,
Reading the morning sky weather.

When she used to farm her land,
It would have been time to go
Till the soil until twelve noon.
Now thirty years since retiring ,
She finishes the pot of coffee
Awaiting her great grandchildren waking.

This morning in particular
She thought of her grung (farm),
The five acres she had worked to live.
She would take each generation there
At some point, to understand
Her methods of survival.

They all enjoyed going there
For the feel of cool soil under foot,
And for the evening dip in the river.
She looked up to see a tiny face
Staring down, smiling at her
So she beckoned for her company.

Her great grand daughter,
Nevis’ girl Claire’s little one, Yolly
Ran to sit next to her by the fire
Knocking her pipe on the table,
She stuffed it with tobacco,
Then gets started with breakfast.

The rest of them wake up
In the hour and a half
It took to be prepared.
They were all there for
The family new year gathering
That she always looked forward to.

By  nine the house was abuzz,
Her offspring gathered about her,
Evident value of her years.
An hour later, on the verandah
She sat smoking her pipe,
Lost in a children’s story book.

Around her the seeds of her seeds
That had blossomed and bare fruit,
Laughed, played and chatted.
She certainly felt the great grand love,
Multiplied by millions to equal
Those beautiful moments of her life.

Ria 2016