Conversations with an English Grandmother

There was a point here
(Though it was never quite evident)
The rant was steeped with due adamance  
(As was tradition)
Words shot poignantly into the air

Rapid fire

Hold your ground

No need to fret

(It's only friendly)

Wayward shrapnel lodges in your mind
Only later will it surface
Connecting new pieces of life to the old ways
Still listening
(For your ears cannot afford to wander)
Almost as quickly, the torrent slows
Too many thoughts flood
Too many words to finish
Points made by purposely not stating them

Frequent pauses

Losing breath

The effect equal to the purposeful silence of a seasoned speaker

Throat closing

Though eyes still wide

Momentarily choking on a lifetime of unfinished sentences

This is how we converse
Word salad, old hat, no end
Mostly her
This is what I love
This is who she is
Do not be fooled by her excited speech and furrowed brow
For she is quite lovely
My old English gal