Grandmother!
You who sang to green valleys
And passed to a sweet repose at ninetysix
Here is your little Rita at last
Grown old, grown forty-nine;
Here stretched on your grave under the winter stars
With the rustle of oak leaves over my head;
Piecing together strength for the act
Last thoughts, memories, asking how I am here!
After wandering afar, over the world
Life in cities, marriages, motherhood—
(They all married, and I am homeless, alone.)
Grandmother! I have not lacked in strength
Nor will, nor courage. No! I have honored you
With a life that used these gifts of your blood
But I was caught in trap after trap in the years
At last the cruelest trap of all
Then I fought the bars, pried open the door
Crawled through — but it suddenly sprang shut
And tore me to death as I used your courage
To free myself!
Grandmother! Fold me to your breast again
Make me earth with you for the blossoms of spring —
Grandmother!