flower gardening

This is For My Grandmother

Martha (Marsel) Leipe liked to laugh and hum light opera tunes from the theatre group she was the secretary for, back in a country that doesn’t exist anymore. During all her years in Canada she kept a copy of a painting of poppies on her wall (while she hummed those old light opera tunes.) She didn’t know the words. Who needs to. I don’t think there are words for poppies. I don’t think there should be.

P1360665 copyPoppies Scattered on a Roadside Bank …

… by someone who knew about the secrets of the world.

May we all walk with our grandmothers, from time to time. They had dreams for us.


8 replies »

      • Thanks! Here’s the non photographic version.


        Tra La La

        What we hum is the shape we’re in. There are no words to this song,

        so feel free to make them up. My grandma used to hum

        romantic songs while baking bread. If she sang or cried out loud

        while making love, I can only guess. I hope she did. The bread was good.

        I hoped she moaned and cried out love once or twice to God because

        she did not know more than scraps of tunes. The words were lost to her — and us.

        I am telling you these words you see are only blanks for you to fill

        with what you know to be the case among the words that gather round

        to peck the tra la la and la de da she used to sing when feeding them.

        She doesn’t feed them any more, so it’s up to us. I miss her arms,

        white with flour, the laugh that made her shake and sit on wooden chairs

        to catch her breath, and catch my breath to think of it as you must think

        what you will as you breathe in and out while words cluck

        and peck each others’ backs until they bleed and feathers fly.

        We all breathe in and out and catch our breath

        with words that make us up, as I made this up to trust in this.

        from Free Will, 2005.


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