Earlier this month our family farewelled my dear Granny Anne. Less than five days later, we welcomed our newest baby boy into the world. I wrote this poem in honour of my Grandmother.
I wish the span of generations could cross for a longer time,
So the smile of great-grandmother could greet this baby of mine.
For our life on earth depends not on the brotherhood of man,
Where love is universal, horizontal, hand-in-hand.
No, the thing that most sustains us is the love that’s handed down:
When man and wife raise their descendants, care for their familiar crowd.
And in truth, it’s not just love we need descending old to young,
We need wisdom, rites and stories for discerning right from wrong.
And when their moon starts waning and our sun is on the rise,
The love and care flow upwards; our devotion is their prize.
But the comings and the goings of the people in our clan
Can’t be scheduled or predicted—they come from a higher hand.
So don’t go spending all your strength pursuing good out there,
Come back home to hearth and heritage. Let’s treasure what is near.
Read the other poems I have written in honour of my Grandmothers:
The Shape of All We Lack
Seed of Amy