Why aren’t there more love poems
About Grandmothers?
Epic hero’s journey tales recounting
Their fantastic feats?
My Bonmama is nearly 93.
Once she was of noble blood, a beauty queen
Raven hair, dark eyes, sharp wit.
She is trilingual, a WWII military translator
An immigrant, a mother of 5, an entrepreneur
In short,
She moved mountains with her bare hands
(Usually before breakfast.)
Later in her life,
After raising all her children
Building a business
Assimilating into a foreign culture
Earning retirement,
She raised two more kids.
Not half-heartedly, not begrudgingly
But with love, enthusiasm, and candor.
My grandmother is my mother.
She is my very best girlfriend.
She is extraordinary.
Every time I talk to her I feel home
(In the way that only her home has ever felt)
She gave me culture, humor, and grit
She is my beacon and my true North.
And I’m sitting here after a long late chat
Wondering why no one writes love poems
About Grandmothers
My Bonmama has loved me more honestly
More enduringly, more enthusiastically
Than any other, and in return I have
Tried to treasure her, honor and humor her
Though nothing could repay her for
Her heart
Which I know I hold in my hands
Perhaps the challenge is in articulating
The greatness of a woman unprecedented
Unparalleled
There are no sufficient words to express
All that she has been and continues to be
For me.
And so no poems are written here,
No songs are sung
She is otherworldly.
Too dear for this kind of thing
I’ll keep it to myself, then.
I’ll keep it between us –
Where it has always been.
