Poem: No Matter How Old

To the grandmas from Bury who spoke to me on Zoom during the lonely pandemic

My heart sang its last slow
hallelujah
in tongues but
comprehension slips
memories ebb
with time like waves
despite my best
cold sleep’s caress was all I had
and the four lonely walls
of a present without hope
disaster and disaster again
eating away at future life

But a gentle truth
“we can fix
everything
and we can always mend
what is broken”
though you said it entirely offhand
I listened to the closing tide
and the cold water drew away
from body and shipwreck
I finally breathed
as we wrote poems together
about the beach and things we loved
even though they were in history
and a million miles away

And the dove in my chest
awoke
to church bells ringing
with repose of a simple painting
a chorus drawing
workshopped
pencil strokes holding hands
since the old are neat guides
and motherly sounds
unaware of their affection
and protection
unabashed to build with soil
and tired hands
my imagined cathedral

I quietly began to believe since then
since my heart gave up
and tongues descend
a hallelujah once again
I still think of them some years now
and how it’s okay, it’s really okay
to find yourself in pain
yet accept those same words again
“to mend”
to be comforted
and none of those words or wants
of trying or falsely accused unjustified living
of remembering what was lost
and writing it down with love
will ever be in vain

First written in 2021, edited and published in 2024