“Why go? There’s nothing there to see.”
my grandmother words about her native country,
flung bitterly
she left behind the hardship, harshness
kicking the dust off her shoes
To find a life with a future elsewhere
never to return, rejecting her past

100 years later, her granddaughter visits and sees …

fields of churned red clay, potatoes newly harvested
gently glowing under the autumn sun
stretching out endlessly
giving rise to mountainous terrain
trees stunted by the wind and weather
some hurricane broken, skeletons bereft of leaf
but stubbornly rooted to the cliffs of their birth
plunging down to the coast
To the north, massive sentinels of black boulders
stoic against the crashing churning ocean
stones of orange, red, gray and blue
pushed and packed on the shore
the stones chattering, tattering at the retreat of the tide
sea wood sculptures
Scattered on the beaches
offering respite to tired travelers, sit, rest
Whispering “stay awhile, stay awhile”
no conversation required
Gaze to the horizon where blue meets blue and endless shades of blue
To the south, companion clay cliffs rounding out the far end of the cove
hold their own against the tide
ubiquitous purple asters meander throughout the peninsula
a friendly thread connecting lowland and upland and flatland
and gardened around the feet of
lighthouses now silent but proud
forever bold against the sky

a granddaughter sees with tourist eyes
a wild and beautiful land and sea
which her grandmother, too busy surviving
could not appreciate
Her granddaughter is able to cherish this land

because her grandmother left

Originally written: 9/26/2024