Mundane

I opened my eyes to find feathers, the harbinger of peace,
And closed them to hear soft simmering chirps, a gentle release.
I was five and curious of my grandfather’s hobbies,
How he understood the birds’ many secret melodies,
Until I was nineteen, curious of God’s wrath,
And all of the answers he could not bring to me.

There are at least fifteen flowers I cannot name,
In the watered garden of my grandmother’s hand,
So much to learn about life from her.
But I have years of education,
In every subject and book of my desire,
Knowledge that cannot be so easily shared.

Her mother sold her grandmother’s embroidery,
Supposing it was far too mundane to be kept,
Yet I shared with her daughter several cups of tea today,
Wanting to be surrounded by the traditions that stay.

I have learnt to write critically,
But I was not taught how to sew.