A Grandma Memory

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My little man, frame heaving with his sobs;

tiny woes all tangled in his sweaty hair and

swollen eyes; his sun has shattered into bits;

his world has tumbled upside down. I hold him

tight and whisper love to wash away his grief;

it merely swizzles through his tears.

*

Helpless as the stars that cannot burn away

earth’s woes, I simply smooth taut ridges of his

back, his shoulders, and his neck, the only

thing I know to do; my fingers slowly find their

way into his anxious heart, begin to knead

away his sorrowed fear.

*

“Damma”—my garbled name floats to the

surface of his sobs; our fingers intertwine;

together now, like tiny insects building

intricate abodes, we gather all the pieces of his

brokenness and bit by bit, we work to mend that

shattered sun.

*

A memory from long ago, but

still, from time to time, when my sun

fades or troubles knot my thoughts, that

quiet “damma” nestles in my bones, I

feel our fingers intertwined, stillness wraps

around my shoulders, tiny threads of light

weave through my shadowland.

7 thoughts on “A Grandma Memory

  1. [Jaw dropping]

    Good heavens, this is gorgeous and poignant on so many levels. The metaphor of the shattered sun is potent as is the tiny insects building intricate abodes. So many lines are knock-outs: “Helpless as the stars that cannot burn away earth’s woes”; “begin to knead away his sorrowed fear [I love how you put “sorrowed” with “fear”] . . . and goodness, the last stanza. What a payoff, “tiny threads of light weave through my shadowland.” This is a beautiful lullaby not only to your grandson, but also to “Damma”. And, come to think of it, a lullaby for me or any person in need of comfort which means all of us.

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