My Poetry
Again, This
Aois Dana
A Bag of Spring
For A Wedding
Little Brother
Ostara - Mist and Wings
Rainy Day
Some Murdering Secret
Sun and Rain
What Comes of Wings
    My Grandmother was diagnosed with terminal cancer in November. I really don't like that month sometimes. This poem was a sort of an immidate reaction to the news.

So where didn't I see you coming?
In her breath
In her walk
In her eyes
You have been there for long and long

And I saw you and recognized you for what you were
And I thought I had accepted that.

And she is only someone that I have 
Fought with
Screamed at
Run from
For these many years.

Always there, always waiting,
We have our differences, she and me.

But we are so similar, so very alike
In our stubbornness
In our rage
In our rough love
Two staffs in a village always come to blows.

But you are here now, and come between us
And all those things seem small and unimportant

For you are always with us, 
In the ending of all arguments
And the healing of all wounds
And the birthing of all lives.
Hail, Death.  I see you there behind my Grandmother's eyes, 
as my own eyes fill with tears.
© Anne Cross, 1998

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Created: November 9, 1998
Last updated: December 17, 1998