Flower

for my Grandmother - Irene Salay - 1917-2012

The garden gate is open - she halfway

across a ploughed field.
A man approaches, felt hat in hand
in his other, a brim of colour.

Movement slow, each step a memory
ageless, familiar.  Afloat
her voice, first bird of morning -

her smile wide
blue September sky;
dusk settles, pilgrim to land.