WORD HAS IT.

POEM ON A GREAT GRANDMOTHER.

Word has it, great grandmother
Passed away in 1953; some
Speak of dementia, some of

Melancholy. Stuffed upstairs
With an old piano, old tunes,
Table and chairs. You never

Met her, you’ll never know,
Just a few photos and fingers
Pointing and people saying:

That’s her, that’s so and so.
You would liked to have
Met her and have had a chat,

Hearing her voice talking of
This and that; have smelt her
Perfume, have gazed in her

Eyes, have got to the real her,
Not maybes or lies. But you
Never met her despite the

Odd promise; she died the
Same year as Joe Stalin and
Dylan Thomas. She’s just the

Woman in the photographs,
Great grandmother; kind,
Gentle, but no great bundle

Of laughs or so they say,
Those who knew and judged
Her, before passing away.

Author's Note

My great grandmother.