Over the River and Through the Woods by Russell Rowland

No, Grandmother’s house isn’t there anymore,
nor Grandmother, nor much of the woods.

Nor us seated together. On Facebook
we reminisce about her steamy windows, gold
with light from within, as the bird
and its accoutrements emerged from the oven.

Her apron, how we do remember that apron,
the little smile reminding us to fold
our hands, bow our heads, before digging in.

One day of the year, we felt wholesomeness,
and wondered whether “everything
is going to be all right” was perhaps less
the empty assurance time had made it seem.

And, of course, we went home with leftovers.

I was the one who lived near enough
to touch Grandmother’s cheek in the hospital,
and say thanks for all of us. Her face
softened, that day she finished breathing.



Russell Rowland continues trail maintenance on behalf of the Lakes Region (NH) Conservation Trust. His next poetry book, Magnificat, is due out in April (Encircle Publications).