A giant made small, time pressing her down and compressing whilst stretching me tall, then taller, a giant beside her.

Hair coated in plastic, bouncing back from any assault. Skirt, blouse and cardigan almost like a uniform, appearing with a smile and a hug.

Holidays, weekends, evenings of my childhood. Sleep overs, emergency deliveries. “Grandma I’ve forgotten to bring…” and, “Grandma I don’t feel well; can I come to yours?”

Forts made of pillows, watching the same three videos on repeat. Tarzan bumper stickers and an innocent view, “why does everything have a double meaning!”

Walks on the Chevin or up to the woods. “No Grandma, let’s go this way.” Off to the Abbey for picnic or down to the river for a play in the park.

Oaty biscuits that melt in the mouth. Gravy so thick that it passes for soup. Cakes on your birthday; decorated to perfection. Snacks and sweets and good things to eat.

Then later, “Grandma I like this girl,” or, “Grandma, we broke up.”

An ear, a shoulder, a hug, a kiss on the cheek. A light in the dark, a bulwark against pain, an ally – unreservedly. Always there, never too busy.


2 thoughts on “Grandma

  1. I read this as a kind of prose poem, given that the language is quite compressed and intense. There are some lovely images here, and you capture them with real control and precision. It could be expanded and potentially made into more of a narrative, which might mean opening out the grammar and loosening that condensed feeling.

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