digital collage
This poignant word portrait of my mother, written several years ago by my niece, the sweet and talented Cesi Marseglia, was recited by The Reverand Jan Vickery Knost at my mom's funeral service. I wish I had a recording of Jan's strong and beautiful voice reading this - it was sure powerful. Not a dry eye in the house...
Gramma
When I think of Edna Simmons;
Old memories flood my mind, a steep, dark flight of stairs,
onion skins, a little girl skipping in pretty pink shoes,
cats, cats everywhere, cats upon cats, mobiles of color, pottery,
nude portraits, misty beach glass and mismatched buttons,
bright red crab apples, dappled in sunlight, the thick, sturdy branches
of an old beech tree, the best cookies you ever tasted, tiny
hand-knit sweaters, a beautiful dead butterfly
kept in a glass jar, frilly, lively petticoats from her dancing days, porcelain dolls
with eyes that make a clicking noise when they open and shut,
just a few strands of hair left clinging to their bald heads,
ongoing puzzles that would never seem to end, an old,
decorative rolling pin, stale Cheerios,
paper dolls with old fashioned clothing, a shower where the
hot water runs out very fast, going upstairs and visiting the past,
a tiny crib that I used to sleep in, although I was too big, the old
book of farm animals and all the sounds they made, a cute little plastic
elephant in
an Animal Crackers tin, piles of cardboard boxes,
with nothing to put in.
I love you Gramma.
