Your Hand I Remember(edit 2)

[Wjames]

Your Hand I Remember
      For Lillian 1914-2000

I.
The thicket dark and brambled I wonder if you need "the" and "and"?
memories flitting
branch to branch, offering 
scant glimpses, precious
faint calls of bird song
logged and recorded. This is a great opening.
 
But you,
you caught among thorns,
what can I hope
to remember of you?
 
II.
Lily of the valley blooming
sweet sprays of white bells Lovely
your favorite flower
remember
your house on Martha Washington
those stairs the height of Everest
how me and the cousins we tumbled No need for "we"?
again and again playing
octopus, Grandpa grasping for us
before the blazing living room fire;
a child’s thrill of wishing against
wishing to be caught. But never you Great line break.
 
did I glimpse so carefree, your song sung quietly
in the background of memory, I imagine
 
sitting at your pink Formica table
in the kitchen talking, just us two,
your Lauran Bacall gapped grin,
the curl off your cigarette, hanging
on every missing word never 
heard from you to know you. I think the first four lines here are perfect, not so sure about the last two. Further edit: Maybe this line should be "heard for me to know"?
 
III.
It could’ve been the light
of early fall or the height
of summer not letting
on that time is short 
in that bright hospice room
when I held your hand 
 
not knowing what else; comforted
by the quiet bustle of soft
shoed nurses. Quick to smile,
they hustle tucking blankets
and tending pumps and morphine drips
to the regular rhythm of ragged breath,
wishing against wishing
each is your last. Great stuff.
 
Your hand I remember
delicate as bird bones, Fantastic image.
skin whisper soft
spotted and thinned
by years held 
such heat, your last "by years held such heat" - I think that could be improved.
glowing ember of yesterday’s fire. "of yesterday's fire" - I think doesn't add anything - it is already implied by being the last glowing ember.

I.

The past a thicket
dark and brambled.
Memories flit branch
to branch, offering 
treasured glimpses, 
precious song bird’s faint 
calls logged and recorded.
 
But you,
you caught in the thicket,
what can I hope
to remember of you?
 
II.
Lily of the valley
your favorite flower
remember
your house on Martha Washington
those stairs the height of Everest
how me and the cousins we tumbled
down again and again playing
octopus, Grandpa grasping for us
before the blazing living room fire;
a child’s thrill of wishing against
wishing to be caught. But never you 
 
glimpsed carefree, song sung quietly
rarely heard in memory, I imagine
 
sitting in the kitchen
at your pink Formica table
talking, just us two, your
Lauran Bacall gapped grin,
the curl off your cigarette, hanging
on every missing word never
heard from you to know you.
 
III.
It could’ve been the light
of an early fall or the height
of summer not letting
on that time is late when
I held your hand 
in the bright hospice room
not knowing what else; comforted
by the quiet bustle of soft
shoed nurses. Quick to smile,
they hustle tucking
blankets and tending pumps
and morphine drips to the regular
rhythm of ragged breath all
wishing against wishing
each is your last.
 
Your hand I remember
delicate, bird-boned
skin whisper soft
spotted and thinned
by years, held 
such heat, a glowing
ember of yesterday’s fire.

Hey Bryn, I like this one a lot, lots of good stuff here.