Bitter Blends

Improving what is passed down through the generations.

I come from bitter blends Lips gnarled from 20 lashes Smacked with sharp tongue upside the head

Take cover Duck and run Learned knee-high to a kite

Quiet in shadows Low hum droning Looking for the light

In cracks and crevices Secret joys In animal and insect alike

A quiet happy Feels rather sad The loneliness of delight

But less about me More about them

Grand nor mother Angular cold Rigid of little height

Acerbic people Rancorous bold Raised intellect, disunite

Movement of a maker Shaker of house and limb Enshrined in dogmatic might

Softer hues From whence you came Bittered but withheld bite

Never made To feel inconvenient A leap abound from birthright

I was prompted by Monoreena to share my experience or memory of my grandparent(s). The memory that stirred for me was that of my maternal grandmother. She was not the nicest woman.

Following the path that led Monoreena to write her beautiful tribute to her grandmother, Find Me In The Sky, I knew the words that flowed up from my Poetry Muse would change the tone of her thread, but I also knew that Monoreena would not want me to deny the inner voice, so I wrote what was given.

My mother’s mother was not a mother. Her husband died young and she sent her children away to live with various relatives. Perhaps this was an ineffable hardship; however, she never expressed regret or remorse. In fact, just the opposite, she was a hard, cold woman and expressed mostly disapproval towards my mother.

My siblings and I were raised by a woman who struggled to reconcile the hurts of being abandoned in childhood with the demands for attention and affection from a large brood of children. We were eight. I found solace in outdoor things.

My mother loved to laugh and was always ready to spend time with her kids. She created the space for playing games, large meals, and baseball in the backyard. Even though we were never made to feel like a burden, she was unable to offer herself emotionally.

This was a definite improvement over what she endured in childhood. Following her lead, I hope that I have gone a step further while raising my own kids by providing for their basic needs as well as their emotional ones. I know I haven’t gotten it completely right.

Hopefully, the cycles of improvement will continue through the generations and perhaps some future generation in this lineage will get it right.

I invite a few poets to listen closely to the Poetry Muse that whispers from within, to share their experience/memory of their grandparent(s). Whether warm and fuzzy or cold and hard, let the truth of your voice guide the way:

Margie Willis Michelle Berry Lane Joseph Lieungh Krystal Mossbarger VOICES OF THE LOST Paul Mulliner

We put ourselves out there by publishing on Medium. Even as I click submit, I am terrified but why….