Grandma!

Hurried, rushed past
and before I could catch hold of a few,
they had watered down me,
washed me over

Brimmed in an empty cabin,
the old rusty gates had flung open again,
and the crystal paperweights
reeked of nostalgia,
nostalgia long forgotten they say

As I speak of reeking,
I speak of the pickle,
and of the sweet dish
only she could make,
my grandmother long gone,
would make my funny bone tickle

An agony aunt,
an ally in disguise,
we crossed roads,
on and off it alike

My smuggler was she,
her smuggler, I,
we made a team to last forever,
yes, I fell for this lie

Because a day she sang,
the next she coughed,
and amidst gentlemen dressed in white,
was my last sight of her

Adorned with tubes,
her eyelids didn’t flutter,
and as her heart rate fell,
voices inside me began to stutter

Within hours, her possessions were left behind,
in a jar of pickles
and a bottle of stories,
clothes that smelled of her,
were our years full of her memories

Since then,
I have draped her in my heart,
as my eyes share the brim,
and while a little always pops over,
there’s a raging sea inside to swim