dear marsha,
i am so sorry.
i'm sorry that the pungent, potency of pot
and the stale scent of cigarette smoke
kept me away from you for so many years.
i am so sorry, regardless of the dark and decaying disease
of addiction,
i let that get in the way
of what could have been.
someone that truly loves you
doesn't give up
but you can't help someone
who doesn't help themselves.
i should have tried harder.
another year without a birthday card
doesn't matter
when for you it is
another year riddled with visits
in a cold, emotionless, empty hospital.
you were by no means perfect,
you were selfish,
and you had every right to be,
after what you've been through.
nobody is truly happy
sitting in an infested house
infested with memories
they are trying their hardest
to haze away
counting down days.
i find myself here in my twenties,
as red-haired and misbehaving as you were,
living fast and in love with a familiar family-named man
and my Libra moon heart soars
with poems and music and art
like the ones i found in your briefcase.
to know you was to love you,
even if i had to get closer to you
after you left.
during a day of camping in your favorite place,
my dearest was making a fire -
after days and nights of "why's" and "how's" and
asking for signs and endless unexpected tears,
i looked up
and i saw a cardinal, his crimson feathers and eyes of comfort
look right at me
and fly away to dance and sing
among the trees
i felt you whisper to my heart.
in my asking for forgiveness,
i hope that is the sweetest start.
love,
your granddaughter
