Hand Held, by Julie A. Dickson

Hand with Reflecting Sphere, by Maurits C. Escher (Netherlands) 1935

Hand Held

I wince at my reflection
in grandmother’s crystal - 
what did she see, not me…

perhaps her own face, etched
like glass with myriad cracks,
signs of wisdom she would
tell me, sitting at her feet,
always a relief to hear words,
kind from her lips even though
others she read would not,

I mean less than kind they heard
and she would offer a word, advice
for coins, sometimes offered to me,

not advice but a penny squirreled
away in pocket for licorice whips
that burned my tongue, and now
if I imbibe Sambuca, reminds me
of grandmother, always smelled
of licorice, her favourite she said,

me as her heir and grandson, will
inherit the crystal, hand held high
I see myself in her wizened form;
when did this happen, that I sit
in her parlour, surrounded spirits
books and chairs that were hers,
unable to read like she did, it’s 
just an old man reflected with a
whiff of licorice in the air.

Julie A. Dickson

​Julie A.Dickson discovered ekphrastic poetry in 2017 after attending a workshop led by Jessica Purdy. Since then, ekphrasis has become one of her favourite types of poetry. Art provides a wonderful prompt. Dickson holds a BPS in Behavioral Science, has served on two poetry boards, and as a guest editor, and has books available on Amazon, as well as poetry in many journals including Misfit, Blue Heron Review and The Ekphrastic Review. She advocates for captive elephants and lives with two rescued feral cats.