My Nana – by Joan Currie

I adored my paternal grandmother,
Nana.

She looked very much
like the Queen Mother–
not only in her coloring
but in the way she dressed.

Heavy silk dresses,
a string of pearls,
a brooch pinned neatly below her neckline.

She was always prim and proper,
her expression composed,
though it softened into a lovely smile
when we sang “Happy Birthday,”
when she beat me at checkers,
and especially when she offered
a slice of lemon meringue
or apple pie,
still warm from the oven.

One day she wore a dress
my mother had sewn for her
from fabric covered
in flowers the color of
those in the flower power
advertisements.

I looked at her in wonder.

“Wild flowers!” I declared.

She giggled then–
a light, girlish sound
I had never heard before.

For an instant,
I caught sight of someone
other than my dutiful Nana:

a young woman
bright with life,
still there beneath
the silk dresses and pearls.

It was enchanting!

The following passage was in a note Nana once wrote to me:

Maiden, that read’st this simple rhyme,
Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;
Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,
For O! it is not always May!

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It is Not Always May