GRANNY’S PRIDE

Granny stands in the kitchen by the dresser,

resting her old arthritic hand on its smooth worn wood

rubbed to sheen by the thousands, or millions,

of time she’s stood right there.

It’s her default position in the kitchen.

It’s where she stands when visitors land in,

and they think it’s a break for her old tired legs

between the range and the press with the sugar.

But it’s not. It’s a subconscious placing, a claim staking,

by an old woman with not much. She never did.

Like everyone else, she came up hard,

we had nothing. And now look.

I have that bowl there that Sally and Johnny gave us

for our wedding, that we use at Christmas.

I have the fancy glasses that Mary brought back

from Boston, carried through customs.

I have the cups to match the bowl, that Paddy found

in that dear shop in Dublin, what a good son.

And the plates there, they were my mother’s,

sturdy and strong and all that she had to pass on.

I have delph, and depth, I have memories,

and that’s more than some.

I have pride in my life, and a life that I’ve lived to the full.

And here’s where I show it all off to the world.

©Roisin Duffy

TITLE: GRANNY'S

PRIDE

ORIGINAL SOLD

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