Before her fingers lost
their cunning—my mother-
in-law, last of a generation
of refugees from up north—
we’d shell peas
together, culled from her yard,
splitting the pods along
their green seams,
releasing the pale pearls into
a tin bowl, the metallic
thunk a reward for the ancient
virtue of diligence.
Another—thrift,
unraveling and re-knitting
old sweaters. Baking into
fresh bread my child’s
leftover cereal.
Withered skin, yellow as
old linen. In her nineties,
and her memory
slipping, she’d wake at
midnight, losing track of
hours, put on her hat and
gloves, come down one
stair at a time, for church.
We’d lead her back up
to bed, wishing we had
her resolve, her faith
implicit that the way she
honored God, God would
honor her. Hold on to her
the way she held the bannister
tight on the way down,
which was for her, the way up.
Luci Shaw is a poet and essayist, and since 1986 she has been Writer in Residence at Regent College, Vancouver. Author of over thirty-seven books of poetry and creative non-fiction, her writing has appeared in numerous literary and religious journals and in 2013 she received the 10th annual Denise Levertov Award for Creative Writing from Seattle Pacific University. Her new collection, The Generosity, will be released in August, 2020, by Paraclete Press.