Monday, 29 July 2013

Poem by Todd Swift on the occasion of the burial of his grandmother's urn



IN MEMORIAM : MELITA HUME

Melita, where to place you in your life?
Your own, of course, which ends
And starts, as all do, in its course –
Seen the way a river is, at bends,

At curves, the banks disclosed
Or covered by green shade of trees.
This coming close to any life, though
Is not yet yours, quite: the metaphor`s

Too general to do more than send
A mind pond-skittering away, a stone –
We know you more deeply than this –
The onlyness of each one`s store

Of actions, styles, ideas, graces:
In gardens, with books, at races.
The smart teaching girl, good wife –
Mother, grandmother – kind if stern

Afraid of fire as she had learned fire –
Cautious, concerned, intelligent, careful
To preserve – and gestures – how she
Brought breadcrumbs slowly off

The tablecloth with her palm as she talked.
How she walked in the woods!  A beautiful
Woman, finally, whose many turns
Arrived at no other shape than this one.
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