Prompt #10 by Katrina Marie Darling asked us to scrutinize a text and uncover what it was really saying to us. I chose a page out of the manual of Indian Flowering Trees by D V Cowen. The text I chose was on Wild Almond Trees. As I studied the text, the descriptions brought alive the image of my grandfather and the poem progressed on its own after that.


Tall and straight, like a wild almond tree
smoothly handsome
with faintly ridged rich brown eyes
whorled feet, chestnut palms
wrinkled branchlets of hair
skin the color of pale terra cotta,
grandpa had always spelt grandeur.

When grandmother died,
spilling yellow and scarlet blossoms
of sixty years of togetherness
on his chest, he stooped. Became serrated.
Narrowed to breaking point.
As if the resin that binded his book of life had gone.
As if a color flushed red had faded to dull, brittle tobacco
disappearing in silent, noiseless smoke.


4 thoughts on “Grandpa

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