It could be pouring outside
but it’s sunny in January
I know because I can see a slight dancing ray of sun
from the hole in the curtain of the window
between
arbitrary
dull
walls
and dim hallways with nurses
scurrying back and forth
Hallways that close in on my small figure
Against the beige wall and the smell of boredom
contrast her rose pink cheeks
painted on birch tree wrinkles
that decorate her delicate porcelain face
and act as the background for her frail lips
sculpting a smile that lifts mine back to life
She doesn’t remember my name
but she remembers to always tell me
how my hazel brown chocolate eyes ornate my small face
She can’t remember how old I am
but she remembers to point out
the freckles that sprinkle on my face
when the sun is out
Her words
come out like a broken faucet
with hinges that are stiff and aging
but
her words
are delivered to me
like honey on a silver spoon
Maybe her memory
is tightly locked in a metal box
dug deep under layers
wrapped snug around her oblivion
And maybe someday
the broken faucet
will eventually run out of warm words
the pink will drain out
and the porcelain will shatter
But a memory will always stay
Inside of my young mind
and it will always be
a sunny day in January
Wow, your ending was amazing and hit me pretty hard because of your great buildup. Actual tear coming to my eye, nice work.
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed the descriptive language and the metaphor at the end to tell the story. Overall, the poem is very powerful and emotional.
ReplyDeleteElli, this is beautiful! I love how you continually used metaphors to describe your grandma and how you were able to encompass such specific emotion through the repetition of "a sunny day in January." This is really powerful, and I know that many more people will be moved by it and be able to relate to it like I was.
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