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My Grandma caressed
my sleeping Grandfather’s feet
as we sat in his hospital room after hours.
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The TV was giving the cat company. The voice of the anchorman set the tone for the mellow, yellow lights hanging all along the ceiling. It was barely enough light to walk, but just enough light to sit and talk. She set her laptop on the desk in front of her after the…
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Like honey drips, like notes of a sonata come,
Like a chrysalis is made and then abandoned,
Like the bed of a river widens over years--
Slow, slow is how my love is meant to reach for you.
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We pull up chairs. I breathe in her Bath and Body Works vanilla, read her paper slowly and aloud because the ears catch what the eyes miss. Her sentences are awkward, stilted.
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