My Grandmother’s Things
Amber Jillene Yoo
“It’ll be a wet rain,
Not like the rains in the Springtime,” she said
Glancing towards the grey expanse
Of sky that would not hold sun
For another six months
Sifting through her things
In the old lean-to house
Built with the tawny wooden pole
I wondered when they had time
To hand strip bark
Had I been away for that long?
“That was Grandad’s favorite chair,” she said
Holding up the broken arm
Of the weather beaten rocker
That sat in the corner,
Long scratch marks ran across
The bent and splintered piece of wood,
Where her father’s hooked hand had rested
Night after night during rounds of Canasta
“Just throw it all away,” she said finally,
Closing back up the storage box
I had so carefully packed during her absence
Even the dusty jar of dead humming birds
Sat on the shelf, undisturbed
Amongst the other canning jars
Their feathers still glistening
Eyes dried from their sockets
Every summer they had flown in
Unable to find their way back out
Through the rusted shut, mismatched windows
Somehow it hadn’t seemed right
To throw them away
]
Amber Jillene Yoo grew up in the Northwest. For ten years she and her husband lived on the Hawaiian Islands, where she worked as a seamstress and assistant designer for a skydiving jumpsuit company. After that, Amber returned to Oregon, were she now works in loan servicing and raises chihuahua terriers. Amber has always enjoyed writing short fiction and poetry in her leisure.
Story © 2006 Amber Jillene Yoo. All other content copyright © 2006 ByrenLee Press
Copyrighted by the author unless otherwise noted.
Art Director: Bonnie Brunish
