Grandma’s Lullabies

Some say  her old rocker
had an aura, a sort of halo.
Others know it was the many coats
of lacquer rubbed to mirror finish
by my grandfather
that gave the chair its light.

Lullabies rose up
from somewhere deep inside her;
perfume of new spring lilacs
drifted through the window.
The passing of so many years
has not dulled my senses.

I know that room
like the back of my hand —
feel its pulse as my own.
The cabbage rose wall paper
will never grow outdated. It ages
as she did, gracefully into fade.

4 thoughts on “Grandma’s Lullabies

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