The Bench - A Poem
Imagine you were at a park,
And the park had a lake,
And the lake shone like silver,
And it was a warm summer's day.
Now imagine it had a bench,
And the bench had a gift,
It could bring back all the people
That you had always missed.
Now imagine yourself seated there
With the person that you love.
Who are they, what would you say?
Tell me the things you'd speak of.
I'd bring back my grandma,
The one three generations above.
I'd award her for her poetry,
Apologize that my visits weren't voluntary,
I'd give her a running commentary
Of my life and laughter thereof.
I'd admit that my kisses weren't ones of affection
But wrinkled and forced out of kindness.
I'd say I was young and didn't know she was gone
When my parents sadly told us.
Then there's my other grandma.
The one two generations above.
On the other side of the family,
She didn't write any poetry
But she meant the world to my brother and me
And again I was too young to show it.
We run for her now, every year in pink.
We'll kick cancer's butt but it still won't bring
Her back, for good.
I'll tell her how well her daughters are,
How proud she'd be if she knew.
My mum and aunties are the best in the world,
Without them I don't know what I'd do.
It's funny, they say women live longer,
But we were never a conventional family.
At 94 my great pa is still going strong
With the wife beside him a mere memory.
But we're all coping.
And that's what I'll tell them.
They'll be proud.
I don't doubt them.
© 2014 Amy Naylor