i've been carving out a little work space,
right next to my mum's,
in the bright blue patchy room,
to write and sketch and read and muse in.
it is a room full of books
so it bodes well with our souls.
and today I visited grandma
(whose veins run rich with words and rhyme)
in the nursing home,
she was in good spirits and we watched the african violets,
people moving about on the road outside,
a little child being carried by her papa -
we read poetry by thomas love peacock and t s eliot,
then she stretched out her soft wrinkly hands and said opening one finger for each word
all I ask of you is to try peace...
I think she was reminding her soul,