Soup for Oma

A poem about my late Grandmother - my namesake.

 

Her face is stone, but it still warms me.

To know that you are here even though your spirit has gone.

Her memory fills my home, but I still feel her absence.

To know that you had so much more to share even though I may never know what.

 

How do I go where time leads me without my confidence that was your trust?

How do I go where fate will take me without my motivation that was your love?

 

This time I have to try on my own. 

This time, without you but with your love,

This time, with your push and without my fear,

I make your soup, from my own recipe,

I make my soup for Oma.