In dreaming, I carry my grandmother\u2019s<\/p>\n
cut glass<\/p>\n
punch bowl<\/p>\n
up the stairs<\/p>\n
down the stairs<\/p>\n
How heavy it is.<\/p>\n
I, the child, held my Maymee\u2019s hand,<\/p>\n
gently punching down her prominent blue veins.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere is magic in this bowl, I whispered.<\/p>\n
\u201cSee how the crystal makes lazy lighting bolts<\/p>\n
on the ceiling?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust sunlight refracting,\u201d she muttered,<\/p>\n
ever stern,<\/p>\n
but she patted my hand,<\/p>\n
\u201cMy baby.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat at her feet, of an evening,<\/p>\n
as she unpinned the long braids of her halo hair.<\/p>\n
Down, down it fell,<\/p>\n
shimmering, even as the refracted crystal<\/p>\n
shimmered in the darkness of the house.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan I brush it, Maymee?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMay<\/em> I brush it, \u201c she corrected,<\/p>\n ever awash in rectitude,<\/p>\n but she handed me the brush.<\/p>\n Was that a hint of smile on her stone face?<\/p>\n The punch bowl held white gardenias<\/p>\n as she lay, dying from the secret cancer she watched<\/p>\n grow to its mortal end.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you tell us?\u201d wept my mother.<\/p>\n \u201cI didn\u2019t want to bother anybody.\u201d<\/p>\n She patted my hand, \u201cMy baby,\u201d<\/p>\n and was gone.<\/p>\n Now, I carry her, in dreaming, in waking,<\/p>\n as I enter her decade,<\/p>\n brushing my own grey hair,<\/p>\n a flowing conviction in my heart:<\/p>\n I will know joy.<\/p>\n I will shout love.<\/p>\n I will bother everyone.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n by Elizabeth Clark-Stern<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" In dreaming, I carry my grandmother\u2019s cut glass punch bowl up the stairs down the stairs How heavy it is. I, the child, held my Maymee\u2019s hand, gently punching down her prominent blue veins. \u201cThere is magic in this bowl, … Continue reading