by Dawn Pisturino
For My Grandmother
A handful of trinkets.
All that remains of a life which spanned for sixty years
Through childbirth labor and marital pain,
Poverty and hunger and religious faith.
Everything you touched and cherished and dreamed,
Lost forever to mildew and decay,
And the least which survives --
Just a tiny fragment of yesterday.
The old home place no longer stands:
Its groaning walls were bulldozed to the ground;
And the Dutiful Daughter who stayed by your side
Rots away in a back ward dungeon.
How you would writhe and torment in your grave,
Realizing the legacy you left behind
Is nothing more than ashes and dust;
As dead as yourself; and mourned as much.
October 4, 1987
Won Honorable Mention in World of Poetry's New Golden Poetry Contest. Published in the New American Poetry Anthology, 1988. Won Golden Poet Award for 1988 from World of Poetry.
Copyright 1987-2017 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.
