Letter to Nana

by Donna Hébert

Oh Nana
Thanksgiving is
the smell of your house

I wrote you a song
about how you danced
in your old rocking chair
but I never thanked you
for the safe haven you gave
every summer

Not toleration - love.
A summer without yelling or worse
Absorbing your love of life,
of creativity, of hard work
and an appetite for the finish line
(though to you it was
just the hem of a dress)
as well as for cinnamon donuts
with jelly centers, grilled cheese
sandwiches and a lifelong yen for the
brookside, the garden,
the screen porch
and your tourtière

I'm sorry I don't go to church, Nana
but I wasn't a believer
I turned out good anyway, though,
and my daughter even better
and she had no god, by my design
for she is a woman
and gods imprison the female

She's a new woman
like you were in the 1920s
You'd be proud of her
She's a fine human being
and she'd have fun sewing with you
and yes, hemlines keep getting shorter
but the girls wear leggings underneath

I sing with her and it's amazing
She sings with all her heart
and listens to my stories
I wish I'd listened to more of yours
Will you send them as dreams?
I want to know the French line
What life was like in Quebec
and how the Héberts came to
Franklin

Oh Nana I'm 11 years younger
than when you died
playing 16 cards at Bingo
Literally "way to go," Nana
Hope I keel over myself
playing fiddle tunes

I took your name, you know,
when you died
Hébert -
the one you were born with in 1901
Oh the world is so different now
but I still make your spicy tourtiere
stuffing and meat pies
It's because of you I know
what French tastes like.
Thanksgiving is still your house

© 2014 Donna Hébert