(Click on any photo to enlarge all.)

R.I.P., Grimmer

Heading South

My friend put on her traveling gown
for London was her sort of town
where mouths share tales and shoulders rub
when friends or strangers meet at the pub.

My friend put on her traveling gown
for Paris was her sort of town—
gone to the boulevard to eat
and watch life from a streetside seat.

A demitasse or two, or more,
a shared baguette or petit four—
approachable down to the bone.
Better not to eat alone.

She was a traveler, born to roam
when she was not ensconced in home.
Back home, a cat upon her lap.
Away from home, a well-creased map.

On maps, the south is always down,
be it Paris or London town.
So be not sad or down at mouth.
Our friend is merely going south!

As I grow older, I like to think
one day we’ll meet there for a drink.
Well-versed, our friend will show us where
to sip our coffee in open air.

Or snuggle in for shepherd’s pie
in company fit for roving eye.
To lift a pint or raise a glass
once we have joined her there en masse.

When I was at my friend Patty’s house for a few nights this week, I shared the room with a shoebox-sized carton that contained the ashes of an old friend, sorority sister and traveling companion. Although I’ve seen her many times both in the States and in Mexico over the years, my last trip abroad with her and Patty was to Paris over thirty years ago. It is a place she returned to again and again, so when she passed away in a hotel room in London enroute to her favorite place over a year ago, I wrote the above poem. Although she requested that her ashes be spread in Paris, her lawyer said that this was illegal, so the morning I left Sheridan for Missouri two days ago, we buried Grimmer’s ashes in Patty’s beautiful flower and rock garden next to a busy road and across from a rodeo stadium. We could imagine her sitting on that nearby large rock to watch the action. It was a place more fitting for an observer of life than any ocean or mountaintop. R.I.P. Grimmer.

Thi

For Cee’s Daily Flower Prompt.