Last night we ate dinner on my grandmother’s plates
I have used them since my parents gave them to me on the weekend. Sturdy yet their history can make you so afraid
They cannot be replaced. They are unique
So am I, yet my vitality and beating heart make me sure that each second I waste
Changes made can be undone
Or altered besides. We are cocky as we breath in and out and navigate from one day to the next
Yet are those changes might never be undone
Whether they are needed or not, life is relentless like that
Memories of my grandmother’s room are so vivid
The varnish and wood smell of the cabinet beside her bed; the books she kept inside
Her soft wrinkles and the hard, sharp sound of her Londondary voice
While I was with her I felt loved in myself. I remember her tight and bony cuddles and I did like them
Though my own comfort in the embrace in others has come at a time closer to those plates coming to live in my willow-patterned cupboards.
It is perplexing the way of our hearts opening
And painful
Lonely as they have the right to choose
And not choose us
Frightening
As understanding unleashes a tide of memories
Their fear is palpable; lurking like shadows in the hallways of my mind
Vivid. If I still had access to the parts of me that still felt that filty worthlessness I would want nothing more than to tear away every shred, skin, soul and memory
But that voiceless waif is gone
She can question, however tentatively
Hold her own self
Not to waver, quaver, run and fall
However all enticing those memories in their fragments
Like my grandmother’s plates I can choose a new path
It might be so far removed from any experience they, or I
Encapture
I might be so, so frightened to use and taint them
But if I let them gather dust what will that prove?
Confidence is more a tide than a rising anchor
It’s ebb and flow equivocal to our struggles
Whether that is how we are seen or not
Like my grandmother’s plates I will prevail
Rose Chintz and a determined smile
My grandmother died long ago
I hope she would be proud
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