Grandmother Lion's Old Love Story by Parwana Fayyaz
31 Days of Poetry: Day 23.
The 23rd of August’s poem is ‘Grandmother Lion’s Old Love Story’ by Parwana Fayyaz, taken from her 2021 collection, ‘Forty Names’ (Carcanet Press).
Grandmother Lion's Old Love Story by Parwana Fayyaz On a dinner sofra buffet, girls are grapes boys are pomegranates I remember when I was a loving wife your grandfather was as handsome as Joseph I dream of him — he wears his white shirt — young as the new apple blossoms he calls for me I am outside, the glow of the morning sunshine, the breeze - I pick the last fresh tomatoes from the garden. I hear him calling me I run toward him and see his handsome face... A break in the conversation — what I was saying it was a beautiful thought I felt I was drinking fresh water — from the well near the apricot tree and felt my young lips kissing the air around the edges of the glass — ... What was that thing I was telling you. She remains silent for a long time — reflecting what she had in mind that made her feel young again. I dare not remind her. Rain stops dripping now, summer dryness enters the room, and thirst overwhelms her. She wants to go to the well to drink taza water — with her weak knees, she pushes herself and crawls toward the stairs. Then I must go to the farm She now reaches the stairs. The well is not there, I say. It was in the grand house of yours, and we are not there anymore. The well. The husband. The young time. The dreams. The tomatoes. And her thirst is forty years in the past. Her mouth is now half-open, the wrinkles of her old age gather around her toothless mouth. She is trying very hard to weep. But he calls for me I'm outside, I'm beautiful in the glow of the morning sunshine and I pick the last fresh tomatoes from the garden I hear him calling me, I run toward him and only see his handsome face... She says it over and over, until the sun sets when everyone goes to sleep and dreams bring him to her.
As a healthcare professional, I spent a number of years working in hospitals; typically, I’d go from one ward to the next assessing several patients a day- usually elderly, often with dementia or other forms of cognitive decline. Often they wouldn’t know where they were or who they were seeing or what was required of them (despite best efforts) and, for some patients, this only made the hospital experience all the more scary and confusing.
So, over time- if ever a patient fondly mentioned a spouse- living or dead (usually dead)- I got into the habit of asking them how they met. I’ll be the first to admit that, as someone who loves a good story, I definitely asked this question for myself as much as I did for them but, when these patients were given the opportunity to talk about the person they loved, it transformed their entire demeanour and these conversations so often ended up being the highlight of my day.
The stories they told, and the way they told them, so often sounded as though they were straight out of a film:
They ‘met over the microphone’ when they were asked to sing a duet during choir practice.
or
They met when she slipped while ice-skating and he swooped over, remarking, ‘you’ll lose fingers that way’, as he helped her to her feet. They were married three months later.
I hadn’t thought of these stories in a while and I really appreciated the way this poem reminded me of the importance of attending to the stories of our elders, whatever they may be.
But he calls for me
I'm outside, I'm beautiful
in the glow of the morning sunshine
and I pick the last fresh tomatoes from the garden
I hear him calling me,
I run toward him and only see his handsome face...
She says it over and over,
until the sun sets when everyone goes to sleep
and dreams bring him to her.
See you on day twenty-four,
Tasnim
Delightful to hear your professional story .
I love this one - so moving!