Grandmother’s Cross
My grandmother’s amethyst cross,
Square cut stones hewn to catch the light
Eight gems cascading down, six spreading out
Cold and lucent and large
The violet hue deep, dark, impenetrable
This cross, more than a piece of jewelry
Passed from descendant to descendent
Without incident or loss until
It fell ceremoniously into my waiting hands
And you, my troubled, damaged child
Never realized that value has worth beyond wealth
For you had cravings that could never be fed
Monsters that could never be conquered
I sat on your bed, as I had when you were a child
Knowing your innocence had long since fled
And I pleaded to know what you had done
Implored you to relent and answer
All would be forgiven, as it had so many times before
But you lay there as icy and chiseled as the missing stones
Refusing to answer, refusing to breach your silence
No sound from your rigid lips
No light from your empty eyes
Only later the discovery of the truth, the sale, the loss
The prying of each stone from its setting,
Separated, damaged, indiscriminately sold.
Like each of the amethyst jewels, my heart was shattered
Each fragment scattered and lost.
We never spoke of it again; I never offered forgiveness, you never
asked.
You have traveled beyond my
absolution
And I beyond yours, my troubled, damaged child.
Helen Farrar
Helen Farrar grew up in the quaint French settlement of Natchitoches,
Louisiana. She has lived most of her adult life in historic Texas
town of Huntsville, which is nestled at the edge of the piney woods in the
southeastern part of the state. A retired educator, she has written
poetry since a child and recently decided to risk submitting some of her work.
Her foray into the world of journal submission and (hopefully, acceptance)
includes asking Ariel Chart to consider three examples of her
work, On the 5th Anniversary, Her Things, and Grandmother’s
Cross.