Five days after I arrived here my Grandmother died. I wrote this for her.
I let our time together
travel through my head.
behind the crinkle of a big newspaper.
The sparkle of surprise.
in your eyes.
The stories of sisters and school.
And my favourite,
waiting at the train station
the night Tadci nearly missed you
and asked you to marry him.
of postcards from around the world
that came to rest on your mantelpiece.
The quick quips,
the mind that didn´t miss a trick.
The kitchen cupboards
full of ingredients for chocolate cake,
rows of blue and white china.
I would look in wonder and pause.
Food that like you, had survived two world wars.
The shelves lined in books
a house dripping with words.
The mountain of bread
a gift for the birds.
The garden path
that took us to a paradise
of shadows and trees
of undergrowth and the picking of peas.
The cat-flap for strays that stayed.
Jars and jars of marmalade.
The loops of wool
that wrapped me in cardigans
Nothing your needles couldn´t do.
The kisses you blew.