My earliest memories of my grandmother Phoebe are of her and I walking along the beaches of Avalon. They are some of my most cherished memories. Growing up as an artist, nothing ever feels right. I can’t speak for every artist, but for me, I spent the first half of my life never quite able to put my finger on why I felt so different. Maybe she could spot it because she was an artist too, but my grandmother always knew I was creative like her. Looking back she taught me so many valuable lessons just through her observations of the world.
I didn’t realize it until after she passed, but my grandmother was the closest person I had to myself. My mother was exceptional, and very kind to me, but she was not an artist. She did not see the same beauty in the violets that sprouted up without reason. She did not have the time to stop and feel the sun on her face. My mother lived quickly, for her own reasons, none of which I’d ever make judgment upon. I grew up believing mostly that life was soccer practice, and Memorial Day weekend parties, or sleepovers with my Girl Scout troop. I hated all of this, but I didn’t know anything else.
While I cannot accredit my grandmother for showing me a whole new world per say, she opened my eyes at an irregularly young age that this is not the only life out there, at least not for me. She didn’t open the door to a new life, but our conversations often cracked a window. This poem is my best way to honor my connection with her and the imprint she left on my molding mind. I regret that it took me this long in life to recognize how much she impacted the trajectory of my life. However, I do know that is never something you can necessarily predict right away, but ever since she passed I have felt the scratching urge to show her thanks.
Walking with Phoebe
She leaned down to me and whispered,
“My dear,
close your eyes
& picture the sun.
Let go of every worry
as your mind becomes undone.
Watch it as it rises,
as it dissipates the night.
Trust the path of the unknown,
& meet the truth it might invite.
There, in that line,
beyond the horizon,
where the ocean meets the sky,
you must not forget—
You are right as you are
You do not need to know why.
Plant your fears in the dunes
And your trust in that line.
There, that line,
out past the horizon,
where the ocean meets the sky.
Watch the waves that crash before you,
see them wash swiftly back to sea,
It reminds us of time,
and that no amount is guaranteed.
My dear,
The ocean is your home,
The shore is your friend.
You can try to learn it's depths,
But you will never reach its end.
It will keep all of your secrets,
buried deep beneath the sand.
It will show you there is more to life
than what exists in where you stand.
-e.m.c.
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