Elders

I hear listen to your elders, your grandmothers
and picture these indigo cloaked
shadowy figures behind me
pushing me into whatever I’m resisting
stepping up to,
Whispering inaudible wisdom
which flies by, an invisible bug
on a gust of wind,
tricking me with surprise outcomes,
laughing at my steadfast plans,
stroking my cheek with a thumb so old
it’s become baby new in its silky softness

These kind hulking ancestors
hold that space
til I remember my grandmother Shirley
A fiery whip of her tongue
stung across many situations and egos
She was also a rising jetstream,
constantly buoyant, optimistically humming
Peter Paul and Mary off tune,
and ignoring the apocalyptic details

Thoroughly of her time
raised wealthy during the Depression, New York City
her parents, first generation of wealthy Jews out of the tenements
where they landed after Lady Liberty’s greeting
So she had airs
born of nannies on the Upper East Side
drank martinis vigorously -
though never more than two
because three made her lose her composure
which was as important as her figure

Though some say she was not very composed
I heard her inner workings
during countless days in the garden
with my favorite lily-of-the-valley, the soft sheep ears,
and everything she proudly helped bloom
I heard her hum as she walked around
Saw her plan her days and weeks
And weave her whirlwind social life
through the careful architecture of her agenda book
and the constant exuberance of calling and
reaching out to her wide circle

So I know that her brash and snappy ways were quite composed
and though she was never a hulking ancestor in body -
for that would have been terrible for her figure -
she looms large in social pathways she left behind
in her upstate New York hometown

And her smallest traces
her hums
wind golden threads of joy
into the tapestry of wisdom
the old ones wrap around my shoulders



Elders by Jessica Tumposky is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.