My grandmother didn’t have enough time
to float down the gentle riverbed.
Society threw stones her way for the crime
of having a unique mind.
I hear stories of when she was “well”,
and rich in joy for life.
My grandfather didn’t have enough time
to float down the gentle riverbed.
His faithful, loving heart turned against
him one bitter February.
I hear stories of when his heart was
alive and radiated to all.
My parents met later on, bonded over
their shared trauma of losing a parent
at such a tender age. Only commonality
between them. All that was needed.
There are such worlds in these words – you share so much with us in the gently echoing rhythms of the first two stanzas – and leave us wanting so much more (yet it is not our place to ask about such losses). The sense of connection in those final four lines is profound and deeply moving. What a stunningly complex and accomplished poem.