the Scott Stein

My grandmother, Flo Stein, died on Christmas day, and was buried yesterday, December 27, 2006, on her 95th birthday. It wasn't a shock, of course, given her age, and her failing health in recent months. My grandfather died about eight years ago. I thought it would be an appropriate tribute to my grandmother to post a poem I wrote back in 1996, inspired by her devotion to my grandfather and the tragedy that is dementia. I was taking a poetry workshop with John Balaban at the University of Miami and was visiting my grandparents frequently in Century Village in Deerfield Beach, Florida (my grandmother lived there; my grandfather was in a home by that point). I wasn't much interested in writing poetry, I discovered, and used the spatial form as an excuse to write a narrative. Maybe it technically counts as a poem. Others more qualified than I am can make that judgment. Anyway, my grandmother was an extraordinary woman and had her wits and memory and sense of humor — substantial attributes — until nearly the end, a full and fortunate life.

On some monitors, you might have to scroll down to see the image of the poem. Just keep going until the blue left sidebar ends.