“Delicate” by Carol Grannick
This is her teacup—hand-painted leaves
and flowers with a bouquet of names
of borage, chive, chamomile, and tansy.
On top, a delicate lid to keep tea warm.
This is her teacup, and there she is
in her sun room, not as she left it
but as she dreamed it could be
clean-dusted shelves boasting tidiness.
This is her teacup, and she places it down.
The desk is almost empty, offers itself to her.
She smiles a small, gentle curve of lips,
giggles in her high-pitched timbre.
This teacup, it rests near a yellow pad
freshly freed from a new package of three.
It begs her to write. She begins her list:
Kitchen, Plants, Bathrooms, Roof, Furnace…
The teacup sits and waits as we discover
many lists of dreamed-for repairs
the home with elegant antique sconces,
lead glass windows and etched doors.
The teacup seemed perfectly at home
in the 1920s rooms with sunlight
and so I took it as a symbol of her,
a symbol of the longed-for life.
And because I can’t believe she’s gone
I took a bright blue cast-iron saucepan,
her aloe plant, revived for my son,
a recorder and a hand-painted dreidel.
Our granddaughter will be old enough
to hold the dreidel the next Hanukkah.
I will show her a photo of her cousin
who loved her unmet, sang her name.
The blue saucepan is too heavy for my old wrist.
The aloe has dropped half its arms onto the floor
blackened roots abandoned for too long. I repot it.
The dreidel tips its head, waiting for the little one’s fingers.
Unanswered questions about her choices.
Disbelieving the one to ignore the lump.
We never knew. She never shared it.
We loved you so much, why didn’t you…
Her beliefs betrayed her, her answers mocked.
On the day before she died she gazed into my eyes—
Is this crazy?
Yes.
So I see her in the sun of her back room
not as she left it but as she dreamed it could be
clean-dusted shelves waiting in tidiness
and a desk almost empty but for a yellow pad.
She smiles her gentle small curve
speaks in her high-pitched soft voice and giggles.
She writes her list, pages and pages of planned fixes
changes, repairs, disposal and dispensing of all the extras.
I hold her teacup—hand-painted leaves
and flowers with a bouquet of names
of borage, chive, chamomile, and tansy.
I place the delicate lid to keep my tea warm.
____________________
Share your response to this work, in any form, here
Carol Grannick Artist Statement:
I am a poet and children’s author with a spirit that seems to meld differing cultures and observances. Poetry captures my response to, and relationship with the earth’s natural objects, imprints, creatures, and experiences. I delight in writing for little ones and for the rest of us. My brain delights in visual surprises that spark new poetry. I received a BA in Creative Writing/Art History, and my Masters Degree was in Social Work, which I never regret. My status as an older woman means that I carry my lifelong tapestry with me, and each poem I write uses its threads.
My poetry marks the days of my life, a journey I consider deeply meaningful and tender, filled with connections to the natural, outdoor Earth I love and the people and objects in it. My brain has always processed my experiences, or responses to these things, with words. Poetry was a natural and welcome ‘default’ for this child who grew up in a home full of music. While poetry is not all I have to offer, not all of who I am, it is embedded in me. It means everything to be able to write, everything plus one to share it.
