It’s not your death that stuns me, Grandma, not after your
slow fade from warrior who high-kicked grasshoppers
to shrinking woman, restless legs tangled in sheets,
trapped on the mattress, your final home.
I knew the time would come, the phone would ring. I even
dreamed of you, a few days before: that I lay sleeping on
the golf course — where you and Grandpa courted — and you
appeared over me, blue eyes glittering, cheeks ruddy.
Your walking stick towered.
You smiled, shook your head. I’m all right, you said.
I’m all right. You waved, walked on.
No, not your death. But why — when I slide on your rings,
peer through dusty sunglasses, carry your purse like
armor — do I not feel you? I tap keys of your typewriter,
touch where you touched. The ink has run dry. I search
the shadows of the golf course. No tracks in
the snow but deer.
You smiled, you spoke.
You walked on.
Grandma, you aren’t there, in bits of plastic
and dust — but here, in the blue of my eye, the curve
of my neck. Here, when I scribble on envelopes,
here, when color sparks my spirit. You peer at me,
cheeks red with life, your stick high above. C’mon,
I hear you say. What were you waiting for?
Amanda Fall is a freelance writer and artist living in Spearfish, South Dakota. She recently won the second annual Bathsheba Monk Short Story Contest. Amanda also sells her colorful handmade goods and artwork through her business, http://PersistentGreen.etsy.com. You can read more about her at http://PersistentGreen.blogspot.com.
17 Responses to “THE BLUE OF MY EYE • by Amanda Fall”
Comments
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June 23rd, 2009 at 7:54 am
What does “No, not your death” mean in the context of the poem which begins “It’s not your death that stuns me.” What stuns?
I’m sure this poem has much to say on a loss of kin, but for me it’s not coming together – it’s as if some basic information was left out of the middle – maybe it’s too private a musing. I respect this writing, but it’s holding me off from itself.
June 23rd, 2009 at 8:01 am
I like the intimacy of this piece, the questioning about how we find someone after they’ve passed on and how surprising it is when we can’t find that person in the places where we would expect a tangible connection.
June 23rd, 2009 at 9:08 am
I like this very much, the idea that once someone is gone they can no longer be touched, but only felt in memories, the resembling features shared–very well done.
–dj
June 23rd, 2009 at 9:21 am
A lovely tribute Amanda. I’ve had those experiences — failing to find the connections where you expect them to be, then stumbling over them in unexpected places. I am always stunned to see my mother’s face in the mirror.
June 23rd, 2009 at 9:28 am
I enjoyed this piece. I felt the love and longing to see your grandma again. Nice work.
June 23rd, 2009 at 1:57 pm
Beautiful in its poignancy. I love the sentiments and the honesty of the piece.
June 23rd, 2009 at 2:08 pm
Makes great sense to me. The expression of sentiment and the loss of a love one is well done here. Very nice indeed.
June 23rd, 2009 at 3:45 pm
Thanks so much for your thoughtful comments. I’m delighted to join the EDP community.
Roberta, the idea I was trying to express was that her death itself was a long time coming, and therefore not a surprise–the stunning part was not to feel her spirit in the items I inherited, as expected. That was referenced in the lines following “No, not your death”–in short, “why do I…not feel you?” I had expected to find comfort in her personal effects, but didn’t. Thankfully, I did eventually realize that I carry her spirit in myself, and don’t need the items. Perhaps I could have been more clear.
I’m so glad many of you were touched by my poem in some way. Thank you all for sharing your feedback.
June 23rd, 2009 at 4:37 pm
Amanda, I liked this very much indeed. I can almost see your grandmother eyes.
June 23rd, 2009 at 9:50 pm
Amanda,A beautiful poem.very expressive and lovely tribute.It’s true we see our loved ones often in unexpected
places and our actions.
blessings
sema
June 24th, 2009 at 6:25 am
I feel this same way about my grandmother. Thank you for sharing your poem.
June 24th, 2009 at 8:43 am
Your words are a catalyst that enables one to relish the “links” that we have to others.
June 24th, 2009 at 10:02 am
I am certainly no expert on poetry – in fact it has always fascinated and somewhat eluded me – but I do know when something touches my heart. And this poem definitely did. I had such vivid images of your grandma in your dream, then of you trying to feel her in her things and the realized that she lives on in you! And it connected me to sweet memories of my own grandma! What a gift you have!!
June 26th, 2009 at 2:15 am
This is a poem I could relate to instantly. A lovely intimate tribute, made me think of my mum and smile.
June 26th, 2009 at 4:02 pm
Absolutely beautiful.
The dream and the final verse are written just perfectly. very moving.
June 27th, 2009 at 12:48 pm
Amanda, very nicely done. I like the emotions brought forth and all the little touches that unite you and your grandmother.
I like it more each time I read it.
June 28th, 2009 at 3:26 am
I liked many things about this poem, particularly your use of the blue eye metaphor, recessive genes that express themselves in you, generations later.
But my own blue eyes stumbled over your verses. I found myself parsing your sentences until I could see your intended meanings. Perhaps that’s what you intended for me to do as a reader…grope among the items until I reached your “spark of sprit” and let go of strict sentence structure, perhaps not.
Just reporting my experience upon seeing your poem…