Tuesday, January 20, 2015


My Grandmother's house was always warm.
The orange-brown carpet was soft beneath my feet.
She served me like I was royalty,
Bringing my Chef Boyardee to the living room.
The television was at my fingertips,
Cartoons filled our days.
Bells were placed as knick-knacks,
And I would ring them loud and proud,
Books had their homes on the shelves,
I would open bindings and prepare to read,
Although the words were foreign symbols to me,
My imagination created stories of whales, foxes, and trees.
She would sit there patiently, listening to this new world.
My mother's Barbie Dolls and a teddy bear were my playmates.
The teddy had a nose that I would smash inside his head, just to see it pop back out.
My grandmother would smile,
Relishing in my simple joys.
Bungees were utilized as Barbie's clothes line.
Ginger-ale and Sunny Delight were kept within the cellar.
This house no longer stands,
But, I always felt at home within her space.
She held my hand and spoke with me,
and I loved her more than words could say.
She was soft spoken and always listened,
She made me feel unafraid.
Her feeble bones show her age.
Her smile is more dimly lit these days.
Her head is not held as high,
Her voice is even softer.
I love her even more each day,
Although my name often leaves her.
When she looks at me with confusion,
As if I am a familiar face within the crowd,
My name, she wants to say it, I can read it in her eyes.
I hold her hand and try to remind her,
Of the times we always had.
Still she is patient with me, the stranger near her bed.
Some days, she sees me and says how long it's been.
These days I cherish fondly, and hold on tight,
I love you, Gram, you are my hero, my inspiration, my solid rock.

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