Sad to report the passing of my Grandmother, Elizabeth Keen Moore, this morning at the age of 92. Growing up, she and I were never close. In her declining years, she suffered from dementia and about a year ago, she sat on my front porch from which you can hear the whistle of arriving and departing trains at the Kissimmee train station. While coloring in a coloring book, I bought for her, her memory would be triggered each time the train whistle blew, rushing her back and forth to her childhood, and other memories. This scene inspired me to pen the poem below; which, I wrote as our reconciliation, as it were. Now, her mortal remains lie at a funeral home just 2 blocks from where we reconciled where, I am confident, she will enjoy the serenade of passing trains. Alas, Kissimmee, land of the poignantly surreal. In the Stardust Ballroom (For Elizabeth, my Grandmother) Beyond her time, she visited me once. We sat on the front porch and shared crayons while coloring a kitten in an Easter basket, as sounds of arriving and departing trains carried her, sailing along, back to Havana, while the big band accompanied her performance of Irving Berlin’s, Blue Skies, in the grandeur of the Stardust Ballroom. Serenading me, she changed course, only, when another train would arrive, then lament over upsetting her parents who were due to come and take her on the train to visit her grandmother in Jacksonville. ‘Oh why have they not come?” Another train—back—in the Stardust Ballroom; where, all is forgotten and forgiven; and, once again, I am serenaded with Nothing but Blue Skies do I see.
Posted on: Sat, 08 Jun 2013 14:39:04 +0000
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