Gran

Written for Jessie Foster

My memories of childhood drift
Like lazy clouds across a blue African sky
Their phantom shapes not quite discernible
Their misty emotions forever changing

Storm clouds are rare among them -
Fleeting electric flashes of self-indulgent anger
Dull, distant thunder-rolls of disturbing fear

Most are wispy, white, feather clouds -
Good-weather scripts of promise and confidence
Magnetic spray patterns of compelling destiny

Some are fluffy cotton wool clouds -
Comforting blankets of cosy support
Wrapped around in a warm joyful embrace …
Like my memories of you, Gran

I remember silver pots of steaming weak tea
And feeding fat earthworms in the mulch patch
And tracking giant Matabele ants in the scorching dust

I remember yummy picnics in the park
And fishing fever at the dam
And trips to the mystical Matopos to gaze from God's window

I remember playful yapping dogs
And sweet spoils from Meikles
And exciting excursions to Eskimo Hut

I remember thrilling pulsing electrical storms
And intoxicating raindrops on parched bush
And scented carpets of lilac Jacaranda

I remember magical sooty overnight train rides
And roadside treasure hunts for carvings
And awesome encounters with elephant elders

I remember your caring inquisitive way
With random strangers on beaches and benches
And you, resplendent in green, at our wedding celebration

I remember always your welcome lap
And your tinkling chuckle and ready mischievous smile
And your safe secure hand folded around mine

Gran, you billow graciously over the horizon of my life -
A shining fluffy cloud of my childhood
Tinted now with shimmering shades of glowing love
An archetype of everything that Grans are meant to be