Saturday, April 13, 2013
I don’t remember when it became mine… it was some time after my grandfather Orlando had died, and probably about the time my grandmother Anna Alida went to the nursing home. The bed, along with a desk, giant mirror, and large chest, first went to my sister Barbara - or so I’m told. I’m also told that when Barbara moved out of the house after graduating from Pocatello High School, the bed became mine. That would make it about 1969, when I was 11 or 12 years old. It is still my bed today, nearly 45 years later.
My Grandmother’s Bed
By David C. Price
My grandmother’s bed became mine.
The dreams she had dreamt on that bed,
Now became mine to dream in my head.
From my sleeping tween mind came falling and flying;
From my foggy waking anticipating buses and classes.
From grandmother’s bed came life planning,
As I lay in the basement staring at the ceiling
Hearing parents cleaning, yelling, and wrestling.
The daytime imaginings of riches and happiness,
The daytime dreams of busses and caresses.
In my grandmother’s bed I learned loving,
From Reuben, and Masters, and Johnson, and Hefner.
Dreams of Stevens and McClelland and Schultz and October.
My dreams took shape in Oliver’s words
On a high school stage in Eugene, Oregon.
On my grandmother’s bed the questions fermented,
Will love fall on me from heaven above?
Who is the love I close my eyes to see?
When will someone put her arms around me?
Emotions evolved from a mind to a passion.
On my grandmother’s bed my heart became primed.
Dreams shifted from spooning enduring embraces,
To gentle kisses, eternal bliss, and smiling faces.
I lay on my side and dreamed of true love.
On my grandmother’s bed came two then three children
Who pounced and tickled, cried and embraced.
The lumber’s been re-nailed, glued and repaired
So many times it squeaks and it crackles.
Much like my grandmother at the end of her days.
On my grandmother’s bed children toddled and teared
Of their own dreams and unmet embraces.
Lives re-nailed, glued and repaired
By gentle kisses, hugs and salty graces.
But like Orlando and Harriet and Eugene they left.
On my grandmother’s bed I live my grandmother’s death,
A nest of loneliness and sleep and restless stirring.
There is no rest in peace on the pillow.
What began on Oliver’s stage becomes yet another’s demise.
Memories of dreams fade on my grandmother’s bed.