By K.D. Lyons
About this Work
I wrote this about my grandmother, who passed away when I was 14. To anyone who has experienced grief, recently inflicted or chronic, I hope reading this helps heal your wounds like it helped heal mind when I was writing it.
I used to pick spring clovers all day in the Memphis sun
I plucked and pulled until I picked a four-leafed one
I’d carry their vibrance with pride as I came to see you
and breathed fresh air into the sterility of your muted gray room
To bring you luck in the darkest days
An uneasy routine, summer after summer, spring after spring,
We found ourselves there again, but hope couldn’t help but cling
The easy breaths when you returned home, counterfeits of normalcy
Snared in traps too delicate to break, mouthing silent pleas to blind Tyche
To free us from living with Pandora’s mistakes
I didn’t know there’d be a day where all the clovers
Would lose their luck and the endless cycles would be over
I knew when Mom came to pick me up from school before noon
Shrouded in black, I brought the very last clover to you
To make sure you wouldn’t be alone
Somehow, if you’re out there, if you can hear me– I’m ten years older now
I grew taller and became a scholar– I hope it makes you proud
Sometimes, Mom cries when she hears your name, but it’s okay– I do too
I keep poring over family albums with hopes that one of us looks like you
To know that spring always comes home
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