Wednesday, June 18, 2008


Grandma you saved my life
when I was a boy
and living with insane uncle Johnny
made me miserable.
Those years when my neurotic mind
ate away at me,
your love was there,
your physical presence was there.
Your father was white
and your mother Creek indian,
and you a beautiful blend of both.
And the whites made you go
to their boarding school for indians,
where they tried to turn you white,
just 20 years after the Indian Wars.
From you I learned
a few words of Creek,
heard you speak
in the lovely tongue.
You raised 9 kids
and helped raise their children,
wife, mother, Grandma,
rarely leaving your home.
You cared for your insane son Johnny,
lived with him
and that pain each day
until his suicide at 47.
I bless the universe
that you lived to 103,
dying in your daughter's home,
with one of your grandchildren
laying in your deathbed with you.
From 1899 to 2002
you lit our world.
When all the tough guys died,
the football stars,
the veterans of foreign wars,
you continued,
never losing your heart,
until it stopped beating.

Copyright 2008 David Elsey