Stillness

[My Grandpa and me in front of the little cottage at 364 Christleton that I think of every time I think about my childhood, where I learned everything I know about safety, refuge and peace. He is holding up a small fish. I am holding up The One That Got Away!]

My grandmother's cottage was so still,

the ticking of the metal wind-up clock 

on the kitchen windowsill 

cleaved the silence, 

and could be heard in every room.

In my life, I have borrowed 

the peace and safety I knew

in that little house,

planted it in my heart,

watered it with tears and with hope,

and carry it with me, now,

like my grandmother's sheltering arms

around me.

For Margaret's prompt at Real Toads: to write a poem about stillness and silence without overusing the words. Hard to do,  I discovered.