Amber's poem for Frances

Sycamore Woman

I remember the last time I saw you.
Spotted yellow kerchief tied on your head
And your dress---Aurora borealis blue
Swimming about you like the sky/
You moved
with thick ankles
planted firmly
to the ground
and the shh shh of small branches
wilting as you walked.

I guess it’s hard for my young mind to fathom
how your smiles could fit
in a hospital bed.
The cracker-white sheets sighing
beneath your waning roots.
I can barely picture
your grand feet
raised
like a toppled sycamore
never to land again.

I remember the last time I saw you.
Your wind whispered words told me
That romance is worth fighting for.
And that love is the best thing in this world.
You liked to say "oooo Lord!"
And smile while the dew from your
Moist eyes rained up the ground.

I am trying to grieve your death quietly.
I am trying to listen to the rustling of the leaves
in the thick twilight.
I think about the soil
in which you came.
I think about the rough bark
and sweet sap of your life--
Blowing bits of breath
into the world.
I think, too,
Of that blank space
Your passing has left.
That bare spot in the forest
where once a sycamore woman reigned.

I must smile softly, though,
because I can see bits of green where you once stood.
I can see new seedlings,
small and strong,
pushing up after you.

For Frances Adams
from Amber
On your 80th birthday.