therefore, ye soft pipes, play on

My grandmother taught me
embroidery stitches,
crochet and knitting
and the names of flowers.
We spent a lot of our time
talking.

She was stone deaf
by the time she was thirty,
thirty years before I was born.
She always carried pencil and paper
and though she could lip-read,
I wrote and wrote long notes
to her.

Grandma's voice was loud
and clear. In St Thomas's
she always led the singing.
Once in the opening hymn
the organist dared to be different.
Half-way through the first verse
he faltered mid-phrase
and had to change his tune to hers.
Hers was traditional.

Although she lived
till I was well past twenty,
Grandma never heard me
speak or laugh or cry,
or sing.

First published in Redoubt.

© Robyn Mathison