Taking Out Grandma

[penguin]

The Rest Home staff are mostly Filipinos,
though they look like Vietnam:
there’s an arm in a sling, a neck in a brace,
her name is a flinch on a foreign face.
She hasn’t attacked for a day and a half
but the unspoken pact is easily snapped.
By inches she dies, by strokes she vanishes;
our fingers are crossed for a final push -
not the Long March but the Apocalypse.

A Brass Band plays in the Winter Gardens
each Sunday of the summer.
We sit underneath the handkerchief tree,
an ear for approaching thunder
and an eye on the spite filled sky;
she spills tea and bemoans the weather,
partly here, part music-hall era.
When the first fat drops of rain land
the band play Over The Rainbow
without a stumble in their schedule,
as if the world had some agenda.
She sings - sings with such fragility,
that all those who share our shelter
join in to lift and help her.
Handkerchiefs float around our eyes
disturbed by weight of water.

[Todd]

Well Ray behind Jane Kenyon's In the Nursing Home, this is one of the best poems I've read on this topic. Comments below:

The Rest Home staff are mostly Filipinos,
though they look like Vietnam:--love that its Vietnam and not Vietnamese. What follows is a warzone not a nationality. It also puts us in the mindset of the speaker
there’s an arm in a sling, a neck in a brace,--they are like casualties
her name is a flinch on a foreign face.--one of the best observations I've read recently. I love this.
She hasn’t attacked for a day and a half
but the unspoken pact is easily snapped. [/b]--these lines do a great job extended the metaphor. It's the tension that comes from doubting we can exhale. It's the tenuous peace we have while we are waiting for the grenade to go off[/b]
By inches she dies, by strokes she vanishes;
our fingers are crossed for a final push -
not the Long March but the Apocalypse.--so sad. We don't want the gradually guerrilla warfare of a drawn out vanishing of the person we love. We pray for that Apocalypse. You very much capture this moment.

A Brass Band plays in the Winter Gardens --the camera draws away from the person. We get a sense of a military parade grounds, and the winter gardens let us know that death is imminent
each Sunday of the summer.--I like the contrast with summer and that nothing is in bloom.
We sit underneath the handkerchief tree,
an ear for approaching thunder --it's like the family is wandering the grounds in a dread anticipation.
and an eye on the spite filled sky; --this seems an indictment of God
she spills tea and bemoans the weather,
partly here, part music-hall era.
When the first fat drops of rain land --she has been brought outside and she's only partially in the present. Nicely written. I also like the alliteration and descriptiveness of first fat drops.
the band play Over The Rainbow --these are the moments and connections where I feel a writer is inspired. We have a tune from the past where the grandmother is. The rain of the previous line is where she is currently. The rainbow is the promise of release, and the tornado is the method that they all know is coming.
without a stumble in their schedule,
as if the world had some agenda.--I love how you tied those two lines together. This sense of being preordained
She sings - sings with such fragility,--this is emotional that she gets pulled into the song. She is in the past and in the moment. I don't like the repetition of sings. It seems less observation and more self consciously pointing to itself
that all those who share our shelter
join in to lift and help her.
Handkerchiefs float around our eyes
disturbed by weight of water.--gorgeous final lines. Nice use of bringing in the leaves as handkerchiefs, and I loved weight of water...such a great environmental way to depict connection and sadness.

This is easily my favorite poem of yours. Thank you for sharing it.

Best,

Todd

[cidermaid]

Hi,
I know we are meant to only offer in dept suggestions on this board...but honestly I could not find much to say beyond wow!
I found your poem deeply moving and poignant.
Everything about the choice and placment of words and emotions felt beautifuly in balance and so real they came alive as i read them.
My only (very hesitantly) offered thought would be that perhaps a break of lines to make three stanza after music hall era would have visually balanced the poem for me and as i re-read it I felt a natural break there. (But as i know so very little about poetry I only dare to offer this as a personal preferance)
Thank you for this poem. I thought it was amazing.

[billy]

Hi,
I know we are meant to only offer in dept suggestions on this board...but honestly I could not find much to say beyond wow!
I found your poem deeply moving and poignant.
Everything about the choice and placment of words and emotions felt beautifuly in balance and so real they came alive as i read them.
My only (very hesitantly) offered thought would be that perhaps a break of lines to make three stanza after music hall era would have visually balanced the poem for me and as i re-read it I felt a natural break there. (But as i know so very little about poetry I only dare to offer this as a personal preferance)
Thank you for this poem. I thought it was amazing.

most rules aren't set in stone, it's understandable that now and again a genuine wow rears it's ugly head as it is, your wow wasn't just a bland fawning wow. you're doing fine. we all have a genuine wow moment now and agin /admin

[billy]

The Rest Home staff are mostly Filipinos,
though they look like Vietnam: i saw other feedback, sorry i think it would be better as something else....unless you said 'mostly the Philippines' which sets the context. great opening though
there’s an arm in a sling, a neck in a brace,
her name is a flinch on a foreign face. A1 for the win. so far whose sling or brace it is is left hanging
She hasn’t attacked for a day and a half now it's obvious that granny's a cage fighter
but the unspoken pact is easily snapped.
By inches she dies, by strokes she vanishes; brilliant image, it's as though she's being painted over.
our fingers are crossed for a final push -
not the Long March but the Apocalypse. the whole ending of this stanza is sad yet hopeful

A Brass Band plays in the Winter Gardens
each Sunday of the summer.
We sit underneath the handkerchief tree, i have no idea what this is but i love it. is it that knotted hankie you wear to stop the sun burn?
an ear for approaching thunder
and an eye on the spite filled sky;
she spills tea and bemoans the weather,
partly here, part music-hall era.
When the first fat drops of rain land
the band play Over The Rainbow
without a stumble in their schedule,
as if the world had some agenda.
She sings - sings with such fragility,
that all those who share our shelter
join in to lift and help her.
Handkerchiefs float around our eyes i'd suggest hankies or something else so as to not have two so obvious words in the same stanza.
disturbed by weight of water.

i'm not jealous but i would like to do a few poems as well as this. remember that meter thing you spoke of. this is one of those poems where it doesn't need strict meter. the cadence works line by line.
thanks for an excellent read. with a small edit this is definitely good publishable material.

[heslopian]

Could "like Vietnam" be replaced with "Vietnamese"? The simile doesn't hit my ear right, and it also evokes images of the Vietnam war, which I'm not sure are appropriate. Just a suggestion. I'm also not a big fan of the title "Taking Out Grandma" - it feels oddly cruel and snide - but maybe that's a trifling issue.
Otherwise this is an excellent and moving poem. I really like the contrast between the harsh, almost brutal realism of the first verse with the comparative gentleness and almost whimsical feel of the second. The rhymes took me by surprise each time and were a delight to behold, and the imagery was very sharp. All critique is JMHO. Thanks for the read

[penguin]

Thanks for the comments. It pains me to say it but my mother-in-law was the source of most of my best poems. Death and dementia are what I do best.
Todd. Ta for the kind words.I'm not sure about the repetition of "sings", I prefer things to flow along. On the other hand the hesitation mirrors her faltering voice.

Cidermaid. Ta. I think your suggestion is a good one. Personally, I'm happy enough to hear what people liked, what they didn't. Anything else is a bonus.

Billy. Ta. You may be right about "hankies".The handkerchief tree is a real tree. I'm more interested in the cadence or the rhythm than I am in adhering to a strict metre. Don't ask me to explain the difference.

Heslopian. Ta. I think Vietnam is just right. My aim is to show the equivalent of a battlezone. Regarding the title, the kindest thing that could have happened to the old girl would have been a quick death before vascular dementia and all the other stuff ravaged her humanity. But she did have the 2 sides to her, right to the end, which is what I've tried to show.