The day my grandmother died

I listen

to the soft fall of the leaves

and my thoughts drift back

to a summer day in 1965

when I was only four years old

softly I stood there

when I saw a little girl

with blue cornflower eyes

her white hair in locks

her white dress had puffed sleeves

softly this little girl cried

when the coffin was dropped

deep in the earth, her little hands

in white crocheted gloves

let a posy of purple violets

in a white paper doily

float down beside

mixed rose petals

the day my grandmother

died