my grandma
taught me nursery rhymes
and fearlessness.
from her I learned humility
and righteous anger.
I loved her so fiercely
all her softness and goodness
sugary hands and silvered hair
she was treasure.
I thought of her as a queen
I imagined her sitting on her throne
crown made of flowers
looking at me with those stern eyes
telling me that anger
was for people that were weak.
I blew out one scarlet breath
and my limbs were powerful again.
when I saw her in the casket
the flowers so cruelly wreathing her hair like a crown
stern eyes that would never again open
I tried to blow out a breath—
but it was the color of rivers
instead of raging blood.
I forgot to cry, I'd think
as I lay in bed that night
my mind replaying her broken body
like a shattered C.D.
I apologized in my head
I pictured her looking at me
with stern, sweet eyes
and explaining to me
what exactly good children do at funerals
and then the rivers fell from my irises.
I walk by the river sometimes
in the deepest hour of night
indigo hangs over me, heavy like gold
remembering her hands
that dipped into the streams
and washed her face
with the life force of the earth.
I stand by the river,
and dip my hands into the stream
wishing that you'd be beneath the surface
and grip my hand like you used to.
I whisper,
I'm sorry I forgot to cry.
but the icy water
just numbs my fingers.
I return home alone.
// I MISS SOMEONE I BARELY REMEMBER, AND THE NIGHT TASTES LIKE SMOKE.
