Granny Dear

tall she sits
on a public throne
a guiding light in her humbled eyes
spawns tales of travel through decades
eras linger on her lips
chapped from multicultural Canadian winters
obviously knowing
more than I dare presume
her wizened brow
so grey in the wind
gently fallen
rests
a laurel to her yellowed gaze
soft lines
carved of Mount Olympus
remember a jeweled girlish grin
must have been different years ago
coal eyes flash behind tortoise shell catseye
bifocals
ancient attire honours history
a regal patience abides
within fragile bones
fumbling for busfare
ritual precise
toting a polished buggy and an old pocketbook
she plods graceful tranquil steps
one...two...three tedious breaths
to arrive at a vacant seat
I brace myself in awe
a weary flank and buttocks once high
seek support of a bench
tarnished
her brown grasp warms
within my soft unpledged fingers

we touch
embraced around the sleek silver pole
twisted gnarled
from decades of arduous labor
in a white urban bastion
you built a ladder my foresister
with your backbone
bent now
a silvered black head raised to seek glory
amongst raging white caps
grand-daughters of the diaspora
still standing after all these years
off roared the bus and I stumbled
you held me up yet again
your invisible strength
passing into my bones shoring me up
I stood tall and firm
wondering how long I will endure

Rachele Hasten
Toronto, Ontario