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Granny Apple Sky (Memories of My Grandmother Furtak)

Mary Naylor  confirmed
There was a Granny Apple sky
Stretching high overhead, when I
Felt something pinch my bare toe.
A hen had mistook it for a bug.
Clucking and scolding, she wandered off.
Grandma wore a Babushka over
Her hair. Her gentle smile was lovely
To me as she spread her home-baked
Bread with a thick layer of
Strawberry preserves. She made them
From the wild strawberries that grew
In the fields. She never said
A word to me, She just handed
Me the bread. She spoke to my
Mother in Polish. She said I
Should eat it under the Crab Apple
Tree. A large bowl of peas to be shelled
Sat beside me, and were needed for lunch.

A few months later, I saw grandma
Again. She lay at rest in a
Casket. Her best Babushka covered
Her hair. Her worn, stiff fingers
Clasped a rosary to her chest.
I felt like I had a piece of Crab
Apple stuck in my throat.
Tears trickled down my cheeks. Perhaps
They would wash away the bitterness
I felt within. Now the Granny Apple sky
Looked more like Crab Apple blossoms.
I hoped Heaven had ovens
So Grandma would be able to
Bake lots of Babka and Bread.

Published by Mary Naylor confirmed

I was born in Chicago, Illinois in 1933. I grew up in Rhinelander, Wisconsin, a wild and beautiful state, rich in literature and lore. I loved the stories of Paul Bunyon and his ox, Babe. The hoax of t...  View profile

5 Comments

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  • LarrWayne Po4/12/2011

    Last remembrances can leave a permanent signature.

  • Nancy P. Goodman, in Tennessee3/30/2011

    Aww, how sweet this is! Thanks for a great poem!

  • Delicia Powers3/10/2011

    Such very dear memories, your poem touches my heart... I could see those Granny Apple days of yours... so very special, a very tender tribute Mary and a stunning poem that made me think of how much I miss my parents and Grandparents....thank you!

  • Mike Powers3/9/2011

    Beautifully eloquent, deeply expressive, and wonderfully poetic. Thanks!

  • R.C. Johnson3/9/2011

    This is such a touching tribute. I could picture this dear woman so clearly, and get a sense of her gentle character from what you have written. I believe there are ovens in heaven just for the Grandmother Furtaks who distributed love with their gifts of food. rcj

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