Grandma’s House

Years ago my brother wrote this poem for my father.  Our grandmother passed away in 1990, but her hearty and giving spirit still stays with us.  Her little house in Fresno has not really changed much since she moved out 24 years ago, but every time I visit Fresno, I have to drive by for a quick visit to the home where as children, we shared so many beautiful memories.

All these buzzwords we currently hear (sustainable, green, eco-, etc.) were not thrown around during her lifetime.  But as I read this poem, I realize that we would all be in a better place if we lived as simply, frugally, and generously as she had during her 85 years.

And while we discuss and agonize over all of our problems, issues, and controversies, we often forget that the best solutions were offered by those who came before us.

Special thanks to Kevin Kaye for agreeing to share this poem while I am away this month.

Grandma’s House

A small stucco house stood unassuming

On a street corner whose name I have forgotten.

Unlike my house the streets had no sidewalks

But its rosebushes matched those my Dad planted;

A cement porch with two red and white chairs.

I thought I had revisited that place

Not too long ago with my cousin Alison,

But the street had become ambiguous

And we were two streets removed from Grandma’s.

I walked into a lamajoun kitchen one day

And I was in that small stucco house.

It was that that delicious smell of Grandma’s kitchen

That had temporarily deceived me,

Reminding me of another time…

Persimmon jam and cotta bread,

The type I’ll never have again.

Cracker bread in a tall basket

And candy half-hidden in a drawer.

The mailbox that amused my brother Leon and I,

Warm breakfast every morning when we awoke- -

From the sofa-bed in the den

And a goldish, well-worn love seat.

(I remember Grandma’s house perfectly!)

Chocolate chip cookies in coffee cans,

Made in the antiquated oven,

Full of nuts and perfect with milk.

And we always took some home with us.

I called it Armenian pizza,

We ate it with red onions, pickle and tomato

And we took some of that home as well.

But I would rather have stayed

Had I known time was running out.

That house still stands, unaware she has left.

Bought and sold.  Painted, pruned and mowed.

And perhaps I can not always find it

But Grandma’s House will never be forgotten.

                                                              2/14/95

                                       Kevin Elias Kaye