Poems & Stories
Daughter, sister, wife, mother
You were all of these in life, in love, in time
and you were loved dearly.
As your granddaughter there was no better place to be
surrounded by the safety and comfort of your inviting home,
the delicious scent of your kitchen,
the warm and loving embrace of your arms,
and the gentle beauty of your soul.
You were my link to my childhood--
to the little slivers of my past
that envelop me with a longing to return
to a time when you were present, and happy, and healthy.
To when we used to talk and dance
and laugh well into the quiet of the night,
when all others had long-since retired.
You were my connection to my heritage--
to that place of wonder & curiosity
where stories and photos filled in gaps
left by ancestors long-since past.
Now you are back where you belong.
Home.
In your own backyard amongst the trees and thistles
and the creeping ground cover.
Amongst the seeds that will grow again in spring, and every year,
along with your memory.
Isletta Hardy: December 18, 1919 - September 17, 2010.