In the twilight years after you’ve watched your friends wither away,
You begin to look at life and see yourself surrounded by graves.
I can relate.
From the grandson who
Arrived in the 80s,
Watched his friends die in the 90s,
And prays his students don’t waste away now.
You need to eat.
Remember to eat.
It is the key to me coming home.
It’s not a game when your hunger
Make your fleeting steps catch fire.
Your memories are eating away at themselves;
“Are you my grandson?”
Of course I am grandma.
“Then why aren’t you around more often?”
I was just asking you the same thing.
Is there an echo in the room.
We are both ghost in a house looking at each other
Hoping for something a little less transparent;
Something more tangible.
A grandson to hold;
A grandmother to come home to.
I’m a fading memory your mind
You are fading away in our lives
We both are running from the family.
The night before thanksgiving
I will come home.
You will be sleep on the sofa;
Hospital bracelet still hanging loosely from your wrist.
I will kiss you on the forehead.
Whisper I love you.
You won’t remember this.