Dreams of Nanna ... A Poem
When I was a youngster, my great grandmother - whom I adored - would tell me stories about her life growing up in New England at the end of the Victorian era. (She lived to be 93.) Nanna instilled in me a love of literature. She was a wonderful storyteller. I would listen, spellbound, as her words swept me into the life and culture of her youth.
Nanna also loved to read poetry, but as a young woman was not allowed to read certain poets. “It wasn’t considered proper, then,” she said, wistfully. She wanted to write verse as well but did not pursue this dream out of duty to family and the propriety of her world.
This is one of two poems that I wrote, recently, in her memory...
Dreams of Nanna
Her mind rests not where pillows lie
For angels mend the dreams that sigh…
‘Neath bonnet silk and flaxen hair
Those gentle eyes may find me there;
The tales she told of younger days
Still move the dream in magic ways;
Though moments past she’d capture well,
The heart’s embrace was in the tell;
Her muse would grace the writer’s stage
As passions danced upon the page,
Yet muted voice of beauty rare
Convention hushed the spirit fair;
Her poet words unseemly then
In shadows sensed the spirit pen,
Concealed behind such fans of lace
Where secrets blushed to know their place;
This angel’s gift, my runner’s heart
Inspired of love this noble art;
For her, I chase the breathless moon
Where lilacs sing and skylarks bloom…
This fragile light, ‘tis meant for thee
If not for you, I would not be.
© Written and copyrighted by Genna East. All Rights Reserved
Bach's Air on G String; video created by created by Refycul of YouTube.