Visiting Great Grandma

The whole family on two mopeds
father, mother, son
grandma, grandpa off we go
speeding past neon streets
from the city we all sweep
under highways across the roads
not quiet sure if the way we know.

Past the booted bin lung girls
and roadside sellers of fine entrails
now reaching more rural roads
senses assailed by country smells
broken shacks and newer builds
with fruit trees wrapped in plastic
to deter all the birds from snacking
herons sit and watch fish farms
as we speed past with sweaty palms.

Approaching now our destination
the temple where great grandma
had her final internation
a calmness fills the air
as we climb a curving path
past a garden with small stone statues
of Buddhas laughing at our passing
and a lady tending, smiling.

The grass is soft beneath the feet
and lends a lightness to our quest
to speak with great grandma
tell her all is well as she rests
past blossom trees and potted flowers
quietness fills each second with
what seems like hours
a splendid temple just for a few
who through devotion Buddha blest
up the stairs then take a rest
removing shoes before we go
inside the incense filled hallowed hall.

First bow to Buddha long and low
then face great grandma's ashes
in number twenty slot
they speak out loud and give the news
apologise that great grandson
has arrived a little late to chat
inside I quietly smile
as in my heart I recognise
mother, father daughter, son
in each is that one same one.

by David Taylor

Comments (1)

Beautifully simple and simply beautiful.