Stafford was her maiden name
it's over sixty years
since she found peace
and a last resting place
on the island she'd known and loved
from childhood
we called it just The Vineyard
in my mind
her face is still diffused
with a soft light
that spoke her faith
in God and the hereafter
though I'd seen a time
when she had struggled
long and hard to forgive Him

Today reading another Stafford's poems
(that's William, not his daughter Kim
whose poetry I only just now learned of)
I saw something in his work
at once hard-bitten
worldly wise and deeply tender
that somehow reminded me
of the grandmother I so loved
throughout my childhood
sometimes the soul of sweetness
other times harsh
intimidating
it was she who taught me
that scrubbing floors and counters
is a religious act
requiring elbow grease
and serious commitment
when it came to children
she was a true Victorian
nothing wild or unbecoming in her household!

While my grandfather was off on the church circuit
giving talks about the missionary work
the two of them had done
in Greece and Turkey
It was she who
left behind with three young children
when the second or third letter came
from Smith
offering him a professorial position
signed his name and sent it back
and so secured
the career that took them through
the Great Depression
and lasted to the day that he retired

Managing Marian the family called her
and her dear husband sorely needed
her strong guidance
in all things practical
I loved her for the strength
that even as a child
I recognised in her
but what I most remember
is the sweetness of her voice
when she would sing
out of the hymnal the old standards
Day is Dying in the West
Abide with Me
Fairest Lord Jesus
and the others
that we sang all summer long
on Sunday evenings
in the livingroom of Phaleron
their island home
which was back then
the house I loved above all others