Gypsy

My grandmother called herself "Gypsy"

A pen name unearthed

As we sorted through her meagre belongings

In my aunt's ancient sunporch

On a humid August night.

Dragon sculptures and tarot cards

Family pictures and bingo markers

Books and books and books

But it was the old Christmas box

Faded and worn

That caught my eye

In it, I found her poems

Songs and stories kept hidden

Written in a script that evolved

Through shaky innocence

To hard won wisdom

They spoke of love

Of hopes and dreams

And word after word

Her unwavering support in my dreams

Was fondly remembered

If I write for anyone

I write for Gypsy

And all the stories

She never shared.

Natasha Head