The Grey

My grandmother had the loveliest grey eyes. Growing up, there wasn’t a thing in this world that felt better than being the focus of her watch.

She kept the first poem I ever wrote inside a little knick-knack box in her living room. I was seven, and the poem was terrible.

Any time I struggled with anything, she would pull that old poem out and remind me that words were always enough.

I’m still learning my way with them, but I dedicate every word I write to that beautiful woman with the grey eyes.

Rachel Olene Woodard

1/31/41 - 9/28/11
1/31/41 – 9/28/11

18 thoughts on “The Grey

  1. Hi Rachel, your name has been popping up all over the place lately on many of the lit mag sites I enjoy (Words Dance, Melancholy Hyperbole, Up the Staircase). Just wanted to stop by to say hello. You write beautifully! Wishing you continued success and all good things. ❀ Christy

    1. Hi, Christy! Thank you so much! You’ve made my day with your visit. ❀ I look forward to reading your poetry — I just took a quick gander at your work and I've a feeling I'll find quite a lot to suit my fancy on your site. πŸ™‚ Thanks again for you sweet message.

      1. Ah, you’re too kind, Rachel, thank you. I’ve only recently begun putting work out under my own name (vs. an anonymous blog), so I’m learning, slowly but surely, as I become more comfortable with the whole vulnerability aspect. I have tons of admiration for you, and really appreciate your sweet note in return. So lovely to connect! -c

      2. Vulnerability takes times to learn; one would think it would just be about letting down barriers, but it takes a lot of effort to do all that deconstructing. It leads to being rebuilt, though, and is worth the effort, I say.

        I wish you tons of luck in getting your work out there and if there’s anything I can ever do to help ya, give me a shout. It takes a village to do this poetry thing. πŸ˜‰

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