- You might write about your grandmother's kitchen itself, what it looked like, and /or memories of meals cooked and shared there
- You might share a special memory of time you spent with her as a child
- Or paint us a portrait that gives us a sense of who she was, and what she meant to you
- You might switch your point of view, and write about her through your child's eyes - the way you saw her then, when you and the world were young
Perhaps the World Ends Here
Joy Harjo
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what,
we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on
the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe
at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on
what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts
of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms
around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as
we put ourselves back together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella
in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place
to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared
our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray
of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while
we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.
Thank you Sherry for this trip into the forest - will be back in the morning to read/comment - Jae
ReplyDeleteI can SEE that cottage when I read your poem. Smiles.
DeleteGood morning, poets! Given the turbulent times, I thought to take us back to some sweet memories in a gentler time. I look forward to hearing about the grandparents that anchored us when we were young. Or your times as a grandparent yourself. Whatever comes is what is meant to be written.
ReplyDelete...and of course, I still "went there," lol. It's just too much these days! But somehow, my grandma showed up anyway.
DeleteThank you so much Sherry for this wonderful prompt. It gave me an opportunity to dive into my memories to bring out a not so good 'me' as a child. Smiles.
ReplyDeleteI love your poem, Sumana. I can just SEE you, sneaking a pickle and rushing off to eat it while you read your book. Love what your grandpa said, too. Smiles.
DeleteMy father's parents both died when I was two, so I don't remember them, though by all accounts, his mother was quite a lively beauty. I do remember my mother's parents who were exemplars of their stoic generation. Warm and fuzzy they were not, though they were never mean--just remote. I do remember my grandmother working on her ceramic figurines in her kitchen in California. They had to be baked or something--I was only 11. I still have a horse she made. I don't really have enough to make a poem out of, though.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing your memories, Shay. I get a real sense of them - the remoteness, the stoicism, and the creative aspect of your grandmother and her ceramic figures. Cool to still have the horse she made. I'll bet you are a very warm grandma to your grandkids. Smiles. They must light up your life.
DeleteNot all lovely thoughts become poems, Shay. Sometimes it's enough that the memories sustain us. A
DeleteAmy here. I wish I was the sort of person who could reminisce about grandma's kitchen and, you know, cookies and fun. But Blanche was deep, complicated, and bipolar - and filled to the brim with love. I rejoice in the memories of all my fellow poets! (My first poem read, in part, "It's his birthday, it's his parade, it's our nightmare, kill me now. I laughed out loud when I wrote it, and I think Blanche would have loved it!!)
ReplyDeleteAmy, I love your poem. Your grandma and mine were both very large characters, unforgettable. I am so glad you wrote about Blanche and shared her with us. I can almost see her, and definitely feel her big spirit, from your poem. I see a lot of her in you, too, kiddo. And that is a very big compliment. I take after my grandma too.
DeleteI'm a bit late with my contribution to your prompt, Sherry, so I linked up an old poem - I've written a lot about my grandmother, with whom I lived until I was seven. I go up late this morning - my old health problems are back - but I will be reading and commenting shortly. I look forward to that.
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry to hear you are having some health problems, Kim. So glad you joined us! I've written a lot about my grandma too. She was a large figure in my childhood, and all my life, really.
DeleteKim, I pray your health problems clear up. And sometimes the "reruns" are some of the best! Amy
ReplyDeleteSherry, what a wonderful prompt this was! Really, I enjoyed reading everiyone's poems, even though late. I was out of town for a few days, but I have caught up now!
ReplyDelete