My Grandfathers love letter

Were I you and you a morsel of me, since we,

they say, have the same shoulders and

whose wounded spoils cling to memory

as if it too could come close enough to

touch. 

If I could tell you how Grandma didn't want life

after you had lived yours. How those last days

were just a nodding beast of wrinkled , wounded

maiden. Others said she hummed the tunes

again; she sang when she thought that you were

there

tall again, not hunched but with squirrel and bream

and the stink of the entrails , nothing else could

cloud the bisquits swirling with the sharp bones

for the cats huddled under the Chinaberry tree

and

the wooden swing with Marigolds beneath each plank

like a rush of yellow maroon xylophones / all nearest

the well where the water came up from beneath the earth

as pure as soft voices.

Mother says our scowl  is the same as when the mule

fell on her front legs and wouldn't move or the tobacco

worms would face north, The women knew

that Jesus was responding to your will, not ours. You learned

to write only in your code yet

it is enough to say you wrote enough with love, since true love binds together

word and deed when white lightnin makes the world

spin close and the sun swallows the half moon over the woods

and the fine, tapered leaves therein. 

Reviews

[Patricia Wedel]

dearest lovely Ms. Rushin... you are a rush of a breeze
through a Sycamore tree... your poetry is soft as the
Waterlilies of Monet. My journey has only begun as
today April 23.... I will be eighty-one. My daughter Edie
is taking her daughter Maddie to a softball tournament in
New Jersey and Maddie's team will do well... win or lose.
Edie has arranged to have flowers delivered to my door before Noon.
Living in Fredericksburg, Virginia, by the Rappahannock River
is a blessing. My son Robert is married to Leilani who is Navajo Indian...
so their two girls are part Hungarian and Irish from my heritage, and they are also
blessed to belong to the Great Spirit. They have moved here to Virginia
further South from me (but where the Ocean is close by and Edie and her family
actually live close by) We all will have a Reunion with the Great Spirit some day.
Your poetry has touched my heart and made my Birthday so Poetic. May your days
be many as the flowers linger in their Beauty. tenderly, Pat

[h d e rushin]

Dearest: thank you for your sincere muttum/ cut from the same preparation and spirit of the ancestors you speak so fondly of. 81, when people say their age, is only old in dog years. Thank you for your kind words of wisdom....dana

[Patricia Wedel]

I can only imagine having a conversation with you in person. I think aging is similar to people being prejudice. You would think that people would celebrate longevity (and many do); however, most people look at you as though you are a withering flower ready to drop at the least obstacle. I am so thankful for a sense of humor. I have known people who are ninety and older who have more mental capacity than most. The fruit of our labors should be delicious. Thank you for your positive attitude. Life is precious, and so are you. truly, Pat

[Chris Shaw]

So moving were your lines. I slowed down and paused when reading of your Grandmother's grief after her loss. Penetrated my heart it did to think that she didn't want to live on after his passing. Interwoven with nature, this was beautiful to read on a night when I am sleepless. Thank you.

Chris

[h d e rushin]

thank you Chris...every night is a sleepless one for me these days. So much so, that if I go to bed at 8pm, 11pm or 1am, I will still wake at 2am. That's just how it's going to be from here on out....lol dana

[Patricia Wedel]

May I interrupt... my dear Dana... I will pray for you every night to have "pleasant dreams" and the sunrise will often be in shades of lavender and yellow with a hint or Roses. I will sing lullabies to and for you. Sleep is a gift of "Renewal" as is cereal and fresh fruit. Have you heard the song, "Morning has broken"
like the first morning... (and many other phrases to remember) sung by Cat Stevens. Check it out on Google or whatever. gently, Pat

[Beccy]

Not fair; that's twice now in the same 24 hours that I have cried; first because of Gee's poem 'memorial,' and now because of these achingly beautiful lines.

Five years or so ago you reviewed my poem 'Park Benches,' and you wrote that my last stanza was as important as any love poem can conger or imagine, and that the poem was 'as good as modern love poetry gets..'

Here, I must repay that wonderful comment a hundred fold.

Beccy. X

[h d e rushin]

dearest: love poems require an exigency, even a critical period of expression by the reader. Because love , if it is anything, it is demandable. It is "will over reason" (existential) the sum total of actions rather than potentialities. In other words, to have been in love is not the remedy to being in love.(lol) Thank you my friend for your kindness and your continued inspiration....dana

[Coyote Poetry]

So kind and so beautiful my friend.
"it is enough to say you wrote enough with love, since true love binds together
word and deed when white lightnin makes the world
spin close and the sun swallows the half moon over the woods
and the fine, tapered leaves therein. "
I loved the above lines. I miss the days of love letters. Thank you for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote

[h d e rushin]

I miss the days of letters of any kind my friend. Who and what have we become as humans when only technology and operationalism carries our thoughts. And then I read that most millennials could no longer write a letter of any kind, couldn't operate a dial phone, a manual transmission, or change a furnace filter, I became even more alarmed. Not saying that the 'new world" is somehow better than the old....just saying, that's all. thanks dana

[Coyote Poetry]

I kept my old love letters. Reminders, I knew love once. A letter from family. I would keep in my pocket when I served in the Army. I still have them. You are welcome dear Dana.

[Zeitgeist Manifesto]

"chinaberry tree"...dang...this poem took me back to a place I haven't seen in a long time. You took me back to another era. A time when my great grandfather bought a mule from another man and ending up having to change his lunch break because the mule was used to a different lunchtime and refused to work. There was an emptiness that gave this poem a profound effect. The negative space says almost as much as the images you have painted.

[h d e rushin]

the combustion engine made the mule, with it's uncommunicative spirit and stubborn constitution obsolete . But in the same way (perhaps) no one writes letters anymore. because both letters and mules mean that in the middle of everything, time as well as brevity, was important relative to duration. thank you for your added insight my friend...dana

[Just Kim]

I like the way you write, I've looked at your writes and i really like this one. Love the detail. I found quite a sentimental piece in this write. nicely written.

[h d e rushin]

thank you so much Just Kim for those kind words....dana

[barleygirl]

I'm the most unsentimental person you'll ever meet & I've had no curiosity about my family history, but at this moment, I'm feeling a distinct lack of having cared about any of this stuff becuz it makes for an amazing poem. Being bipolar & self-absorbed, I never paid attention to people the way you'd have to, to write something like this. Beyond the tapestry your words weave so richly & with many dimensions, I also see YOU & your powers of observation, to which I most humbly bow forevermore (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[h d e rushin]

dearest: the "story telling part" of poetry, the part that takes the declarations from past events and align them with the people who have long since died but still live in our hearts, would be hard enough to master in poetry even on a good day. i'm working on it with your continued help and support...thank you Margie....dana

[jacob erin-cilberto]

my dad wasn't a poet, but in his way, he wrote love letters to my mom with his actions...every one.
Once she was gone....he lost the will to write anything.
He lost purpose.
she was his purpose.
for me now, they are both soft voices in my memory...God, I miss them.
This poem really moves me.
It seems those generations most often mated for good, for better for worse and forever.
j.

[h d e rushin]

Interesting concept jacob. to mate for good and forever. We will never see those faces or those times again. Thanks my friend for your comments...dana

[emmajoy]

it is enough to say you wrote enough with love, since true love binds together
word and deed when white lightnin makes the world
spin close and the sun swallows the half moon over the woods
and the fine, tapered leaves therein.

Your words crowd the mind in a special way yet magnify emotions, dana, They display thoughts, words and graphics till the sad truth of Love in its final shapes and shadows becomes uniquely and utterly precious. Beautiful sadness.

[h d e rushin]

thank you my dearest.....dana