MY GRANDMOTHER TELLS ME EVERYONE AROUND HER IS DYING
and that no one believes her. most days she keeps her heart
hoping someone might accidentally bump into it when reaching for
a knife. I wonder how long she has lived this way, like love, like
before dinner she sang a silent prayer to herself that was four beats long,
a sister, and a brother, and a cousin, and an uncle.
sad poems
happening
just because you iron out the wrinkles
it’s worn
I’m tired
too. but then she smiles and calls me
pats the kitchen counter like she’s searching
my grandmother tells me everyone around her is dying
I believe it. I see it