Second Sight

Mara Eastern’s Poetry 101 Rehab
Prompt: Second

a photograph from the '70s

“Second Sight”

Grandmother had second sight.
When each of us was born,
she’d know to call the house
to learn the name
of her new grandchild—
all nine of us, two born
early; two, too soon dead.

Mother took the bus to spend
a week with Grandmother,
her mother, ten hours each way,
when she was eighty-three
and still working retail.
Grandmother was good at loss prevention.

Two days before the trip back home,
Grandmother had a stroke, not alone,
because her daughter was there
to go with her to the hospital
on her last planned trip.

The next trip, they buried her
at Mount Zion, her three daughters
and their husbands. And her son,
who came home at last,
thirty-five years after
the bombs had been dropped.

Grandmother knew that he
would never come home, and
she would never visit him.
Second sight doesn’t stop
the hurting. It can bring
an end to uncertainty.
A path to dealing with what is.

Late at night, Mother
still talks with Grandmother,
sharing the day’s trials and joys,
thirty-five years later. Hoping
to be together again.
Not much longer, now.

Copyright © 2015-04-25, by Liz Bennefeld. All rights reserved.

Note: Partly fact, partly fancy.


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