For My Oma – John Tansey 

If the foreknowledge of our own impending death

is not enough to put proper perspective 

upon things, 

then to clear the stern leer of our hatred, 

to forgive the unforgivable

to cut through the flippant diversions

of possesions

and find at the bottom of the bag, 

playing in its emptiness, 

the child, within, that matters most.
My grandmother, old and blind

was, 

like zen, in her old age…
still able to keep the world in order 

carefully absorbed with every action

it almost seemed to evolve around her

she would arrange the yarns by notion

and fold the grocery bags

pat them and place them 

into size-ordered spice tins

and the denominations of money

was a mathematical formula which 
was more complex than quantum physics, even…