"Elegy for Grandma"

Tara Yeo


She was a proud French Canadian,
my grandmother. Petite and pudgy,
her heart was as warm and plump as
her little round belly.

Every morning she would sip Sanka
wearing a blue floral housecoat, strands
of wisdom ready to be plucked from the
rollers of her perfectly coiled silver tendrils.

And she baked, her love in every bite
of her fluffy crepes and cream puffs,
so perfectly made. She was happiest
when we ate everything on our plates.

Crosswords and Crisco were
her passions - one kept her mind
sharp, while the other kept her puffs
perfectly golden around the edges.

Fleeting moments of lucidity were
priceless gifts in the final days. Who
knew a broken hip would be the cause
for so much pain - for so many of us.

Her mind left us in her eighties after
they confined her to a white bed.
Soon, her body followed, slowly
wasting away in the stark room.

Each time I look in my recipe book I see
her, my heart warm and soft like her fluffy
crepes. Kind words and recipes are all
that remain of her now.



Back to Spring 2007