/   /  By Emma Birches
Stone Soup Magazine
July/August 2001

By Mark Roberts

I saw a hot air balloon this morning
And immediately thought of you

Every time I am on the hill
I yell “Hi Grandma!”
As loud as I can

I look at the ancient hilltop tree
How its branch is pointing
To all the land you loved

I look at the vineyards
And I remember
How much you treasured them

When I climb the hill
I still remember
Scattering your ashes
How they blew on me in the wind
And I didn’t brush them off

I think of you quilting
Even in intensive care
When it was hard for you to breathe
And when you wanted off life support
But stayed alive until we were ready

I remember playing cards
Listening to classical music and
Spending Christmas mornings with you

Now I can listen to your voice
On the life story tape
And sleep under your quilt
Whenever I want
But that is still nothing
Compared to your love for me

Grandma Mark Roberts

Mark Roberts, 10
Windsor, California

About the Author

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One Comment
  1. TNTGirl January 28, 2017 at 3:21 pm Reply

    Amazingly written poem! It touches my heart and calms my soul! Boy, I love this piece. It makes me think of ocean crashing on a cliff while I sit with my Grandma and Grandpa watching the sun set over the horizon!

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