Photo by Priscilla Du Preez
Conversation with My Grandmother, in a Pandemic, Two Weeks Before Thanksgiving
1. “It will just be your grandfather and me, and a chicken--
but that’s plenty to share!
And stuffing and maybe a pie.”
“When I get really down,
thinking about this year and all the things we didn’t do
(like sneak to the park and watch your wedding from behind a tree,
like your grandpa wanted),
I think of all the people who have lost people,
or have loved ones who are really sick…
and I think,
buck up, girl!”
“Your grandfather got really sick last night.
He collapsed, and I was worried I’d have to take him to the hospital.
Just in case, I ran upstairs
and put on nicer shoes.
I couldn’t go out in those old things….
People notice shoes, you know.”
2. What will my aunt, uncle, cousins think,
now they’ve decided to stay ‘in their own households’?
Irresponsible, even if we get tested?
More special than the rest?
Heartbreaking calculations,
weighing the scale between
‘They’re in their late 80s, one asthmatic,’
and
‘They’re in their late 80s,
how many more Thanksgivings do we have?’
Better safe than sorry,
but where’s safe?
Where’s sorry?
Where’s the line between cautious and unnecessary?
Where’s the sense when I don’t see you to protect you
and then I just don’t see you?
The ache when you ask me to visit for Thanksgiving
and I tell you I’ll think about it?
The Author
Rosalie Hendon is an environmental planner living in Columbus, Ohio with her husband and many house plants. She started a virtual poetry group in 2020 during quarantine that has collectively written over 200 poems. Her work is published in Change Seven, Planisphere Q, Call Me [Brackets], Entropy, Pollux, Superpresent, Cactifur, Fleas on the Dog, Red Eft, Rising Phoenix, and MockingHeart. Rosalie is inspired by ecology, relationships, and stories passed down through generations.
Rosalie Hendon
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