Ripple in the Glass

Poem on estrangement to my granddaughter

My granddaughter, in her teenage years, was kind,
Achieved high marks at school,
A clear yet brittle mind;
Bizarre ideas would spill out fast,
Cool, then almost disappear 
Like a ripple in the glass -
 
Until she turned, 
Fixated on the greatest lies she’d learned.
She was a lad,
Truth was Hate
And there was No Debate to be had.
 
Blood drained deep to my bones;
Words became sharp stones
Beneath our feet.           
 
When help arrived
They lacked critical thought;
Saw her as a vessel, 
Damaged and flawed,
Filled every crack with poison
Where gold should be poured.
 
All said and done,
It was there I found
Where I’d become the ground
For her to walk upon.
 
She left without a goodbye;
Broke all ties of old –
Took a strange name,
With her new friends
Off to find
That mythical pot of gold
At rainbows end.
 
In that other world 
That hides between sleep and awake
She calls to me.
I keep my eyes closed;
Tell myself “Today, I will cope”
And now, it’s true. I know
I have no need of hope. I’ve let her go. 
 
On 5ft 4 of canvas I painted the aurora, 
Green and violet around the white moon.
I’ve made a studio from her room, everything updated,
Except the window, that, I’ll pass.
I like the ripple in the glass.