My grandmothers returned from the village:
some spilled sugar over tea bags; sunshine…
magnolias painted with citrus
grocery lists—always stained
and lullabies on guitared pianos.
My grandmothers spoke with daisy lace
curtains holding the world. I imagine
fairies blossoming from spilled sugar
—citrus watercolored dreams.
My grandfathers returned from other worlds
—worn hands and coffee irises shaped with
garden trowels. Keeping my summer wildflowers
and winter daffodils, they healed divots
in lace petals. Scarred lavender to heal.
My grandfathers migrated from home to garden:
thousands of words threaded with blood. Tracing
breathing stars—they etched cosmic memory.
Stars blossoming as children. Roses shining as memory.
And now petals—the same petals they left me in old photo frames,
stained grocery lists and worn trowels—are kept with
all lovely things preserved as fruit, flowers, and skin left for me.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 28, Issue 2.
Lana La Framboise is an author, poet, and professional dancer with an MFA from San Jose State University. She has a diverse background in communications, marketing, dance, and teaching. La Framboise balances her passion for storytelling with exercise, random projects, and quality time with her dog.
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