Submitted by Jamie Dedes
a tattered memoir in sepia tones
hanging on the wall of your office
a tiny plump sparrow of a woman
by a lone stone cottage
toothless, poor old thing
a warm shawl pulled to cover her head
an apron, worn shoes
from a time long past
from another world
my Turkish grandmother
what was her name?
you never said, i never asked
Painting: An Old Woman peeling Pears – by a follower of David Teniers the Younge
Vita Brevis Press. 
I like the gentle pathos of this one, nameless old people who should have been close, slipping into the past.
Reblogged this on The Biblioanthropologist.
Very good poem, I am going to reblog this one for you.
Reblogged this on Truth Troubles.
Thank you!
This so gently captures the truth we live as we age. I so long to know so much more about my mother, grandmothers and great-grandmothers. And of course my aunts but none of these women are alive. Your poem touched me in a nice way. I think that my children and grandchildren will someday think the same about me. Maybe my blog will help them to know who I am as a person.
Pat, I think it will. You’ve shared so much there and grace and honesty. Thanks for your comment here.
Such beautiful exposition of the losing identify of our parents and grandparents., Loved your metaphors and the word flow, brilliant.
This is a poem which evokes a lot of thought and feeling. Anand Bose from Kerala
Agreed–this is a favorite of ours!