Grandmother's Cross



Grandmother’s Cross



My grandmother’s amethyst cross, 

Square cut stones hewn to catch the light

Eight gems  cascading down, six spreading out

Cold and lucent and large

The violet hue deep, dark, impenetrable


This cross, more than a piece of jewelry

Passed from descendant to descendent

Without incident or loss until

It fell ceremoniously into my waiting hands


And you, my troubled, damaged child

Never realized that value has worth beyond wealth

For you had cravings that could never be fed

Monsters that could never be conquered 


I sat on your bed, as I had when you were a child

Knowing your innocence had long since fled

And I pleaded  to know what you had done

Implored you to relent and answer  

All would be forgiven, as it had so many times before


But you lay there as icy and chiseled as the missing stones

Refusing to answer, refusing to breach your silence

No sound from your rigid lips

No light from your empty eyes

Only later the discovery of the truth, the sale, the loss

The prying of each stone from its setting, 

Separated, damaged, indiscriminately sold.


Like each of the amethyst jewels, my heart was shattered 

Each fragment scattered and lost.

We never spoke of it again; I never offered forgiveness, you never asked.

You have traveled beyond my absolution

And I beyond yours, my troubled, damaged child.



Helen Farrar



Helen Farrar grew up in the quaint French settlement of Natchitoches, Louisiana.  She has lived most of her adult life in historic Texas town of Huntsville, which is nestled at the edge of the piney woods in the southeastern part of the state.  A retired educator, she has written poetry since a child and recently decided to risk submitting some of her work. Her foray into the world of journal submission and (hopefully, acceptance) includes asking Ariel Chart to consider three examples of her work, On the 5th Anniversary, Her Things, and Grandmother’s Cross.

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