Poems from Elle's perspective

Grandma

A banknote
nestled inside a card,
slipped into an envelope.
Flown across the Tasman Sea
with grandmotherly affection
signed in an elegant scrawl.

A token gesture
for birthdays and Christmas,
a mimicry of a true relationship.
No real effort to close the distance.

I saw her at Uncle Pip's wedding,
when I was seven.
Rinse and repeat
                   when Andrea married.
Rinse and repeat
                   when I married Steve.

Awkward,
uncomfortable.
She felt cold.
Not like marble,
not like ice,
just...like she didn't really care.

I confessed, later,
to Mum,
that she didn't feel like family.
I didn't know her.
She was a stranger.
Not family. A stranger.
Not a grandmother. A stranger.

I watch history repeat in Dad,
and know it won't repeat with me.
I know,
it takes more than token gestures
to be a grandparent.


Free verse. Written 8 January 2016.