A Prayer for My Great-Granddaughter

It's a windchime afternoon. My small town's song

echoes in trees, in the distant whoosh of traffic,

in the crow caw meant for no woman's ears

but spoken nonetheless as I wait here, watching

a flag answer gusts in some stranger's backyard

 

allegiance. Not mine. I pledge neither myself

nor that emblem of bitter history. I am just

here, anchored to a car in a muddy parking lot

that's almost as empty as I am, a spot as good

 

as any for a poem I pray will not be lost

to tears and time, a poem to be forgotten

long enough and rediscovered as the thin voice

of some ancestor who held no allegience but is

welcomed, finally,to a community that embraces her.

 

Who will know me? Who will remember enough of me?

 

She was an odd duck, wasn't she? She never could quit

vacillating, dreaming prayers amassed in wildflowers,

positing their breadth as endless, even as they flourish

 

in mine fields.

 

She never could stay put. She built an altar to hope,

carried it in her imagination, and never let it go

long enough to sprout one root of trust. She never

found a home outside her own pocket.

 

Who will know me? Who will remember?

 

Will she be a woman, a dark-eyed rose

of Sharon,whose tenacious spirit will not 

strand  her here, like me, a broken stem

in a parking lot where people come and go

unaware of crows or cars or windchimes?

 

My great-granddaughter will sit still, her toes

will turn in, like mine. She'll twist one lock

of hair between two fingers as I once did.

She'll open windows. She'll say what she means.

 

She's not afraid to breathe.

 

When she finds this poem, she'll say:

Oh my great-grandmother, that crazy poet

who sat for hours in a parking lot, considering

the significance of windchimes.

Reviews

[Vacant]

This is a beautiful piece of imagery. Well worded with apt analogy. I really enjoyed it though I didn't expect to. The title, while describing the obvious overtones of the piece, gave me the initial impression that it would follow the common banality of "Prayer" type poems. But you delivered this very well and avoided the cliche. Bravo.
(I would make one small suggestion, the line "She's not afraid to breathe" is in the wrong verb tense for the lines which precede and follow it. Instead of being present, it should be future. Something like, "She'll not fear breathing" or such.)

[Tara]

Whew. What a read! I love getting a glimpse into who you are through this poem. I definitely didn't see you as a broken stem in a parking lot, though..I saw you more as a bright red rose surrounded by grey people going about their day as the rose bloomed in the ponderings of windchimes. And for some reason , I see you in a volkswagon...go figure..lol. A truly fabulous write, here...tell me the truth, you must love this one too.

[Tim McGovern]

Every time I think I've voiced what I want to say, you write something and I say " That's what I should have said"
You know this is wonderful, almost heartbreaking for me to read, it could probably be pared down a little but I have no idea what to cut. You'll know if it needs it or not.

and by the way, I'll remember and if anyone ever asks I'll tell them.
Love you Shemeh
Namaste'