Emilie Spencer Deer
Been chasing a ghost, diamondthroated invalid shade
Shade sheltering our tree-slung swing, grandma dead
Dead all my life, living story to story in Daddy's nights
Nights splitting their sides, grandma the jokester
Jokester rising to moments with song, pun, rhyme spun
Spun see-through silver imaginary grandma, never buried
Buried in Daddy's joy every offbeat scribe I have been.
***
Been naming, renaming the old and the yet to be.
Yet to be outshone, forgotten, you pinch-o'this-that whiz
Whiz bang grandma, golden the floating blanket
Blanket nine granddaughters, two little grandboys, grown
without you
You yourself motherless, tiniest, now become ancestral lore
Lore that we spin and gather, launching our own houses
Houses to crouch in, papered in grandma-lore, all we have
been.
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