Life in the Fast Lane

A TRIATHLETE'S MULTISPORT ADVENTURES, TRAVELS, RANDOM MUSINGS, AND CHRONICLES OF HER OTHERWISE ORDINARY LIFE

Free Verse: Margie

By 3:40 PM , , , , , , ,

Last November 1 was All Saints' Day and as is tradition, we remembered our loved ones who had moved on from this life to Life Thereafter.

I wrote this in memory of my grandmother. Sometimes, I think about her last few years and how she lived them.

I hope she was happy. I hope that I continue to make her proud.


--------------------

She opens her eyes.

She is exquisite, the fabric of her gown flowing with her every move.
Her long, curly hair pinned elegantly on top of her head.
On her ears are dangling pearl earrings. Around her neck is a single strand of pearls.
Her every step down a grand spiral staircase exudes grace.
She is radiant as she smiles.

But her eyes are focused. They look downward into a single figure.

There he stands. Her Knight. Her Prince Charming.
Dashing and debonaire in his favorite suit.

He extends a hand to welcome hers.

Their hands meet as she reaches him. Deftly and swiftly, he twirls her around and holds a pose.

She laughs gaily, reveling in the moment.
He returns the smile and twirls her around once more.

Suddenly, the hallway is filled with wonderful sound. Their favorite music.

His feet start to shuffle. Hers following his.
They waltz right along to the beat of the music, but they no longer hear its percussion or brass.

Their eyes are locked into each other's, not one willing to drop his or her gaze.

He tilts his head back proudly and she laughs at the gesture.
He is not one to feign machismo for, to her, he is machismo.

She opens her eyes.

She is in a small room.

She wears a loose floral dress.
She wears no jewelry; they have already become too cumbersome.
Her frail frame droops against a wooden rocking chair.
Her feet do not shuffle when she wants them to.
Her hands are stiff, devoid of the grace needed to do the waltz.
She can't even bring herself to hum their favorite music.

Her attention is caught. She looks around.
She sees people who call out her name.

"Mom?"
"Lola?"

They seem to know her. But who are they?

"Mom?"
"Lola?"

She looks around wildly. There is too much noise.
What happened to the soothing percu
ssion and brass beats?

She stares at them, trying to recognize their faces.

But she can't. She is looking for that particular gaze.


Where is he
, she wonders?
Where is my Knight? My Prince Charming?

She closes her eyes shut, willing to shield herself from the sound of the voices whose gazes she does not seek.

She keeps her eyes shut for as long as she can, against the background drone of unfamiliarity, hoping that when she opens them, she can go back to what she loved.

What was familiar.

What she could actually remember.

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2 comments

  1. I remember my lola also while reading this.. I miss her a lot.. and my lolo.. I know how much you miss her too...and for sure she misses you too..

    ReplyDelete
  2. Hi, Jennifer! Thanks for dropping by. :) I'm sure your grandparents are proud of you, too. Grandparents are two of the most unforgettable and special people in anyone's life. Have a great day!

    ReplyDelete

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