Love, Grandma

Love, Grandma

 

The salty, savory taste of her

homemade chicken noodle soup.

The scraping of dry fingers on the

fabric of our newly washed clothes.

The jasmine scent of her perfume

at church. The clunk, clunk of
her tennis shoes on pavement

when she’d go for a walk.

 

Her face would instantly break into

the biggest smile when I stopped
at her house. She’d say hello in a

sing-songy tune. The pat pat pat

on my back, embracing me lovingly.

Her warm hands would intertwine

with my freezing fingers.

 

Her friends appear now, but they

vanish when others are around.

She hears conversations when

there is nothing but silence. Her

memories are melting away every

second. She’s confined in a prison,

that is her mind, and God threw

away the key.