Grandma,
WHAT OF THE CORNER-- that you now no longer sit. the bed that you will no longer lay.
What of the pastels-- that you now no longer use. the soft tones of amber and pink. the pale blue shadow that silenced your eyes.
What of the lily pads-- on the surface ripples. of the pond you once watched us play in. the chair that rocked until it cracked. splintered right down the middle.
What of the poppies-- that you placed in my hair. that you helped me blow 'dream wishes' into. the poppies that tickled me. What of grandpa, poppy?
LIKE GREEN when it turns to brown. like pastel powder on an envelope,
you fade with time.
You left this place with nothing more than what you came here with, a presence. an empty room,
now, misplaced.
New milk and cookies, hide the old, mellow yellow, kitchen countertops. fresh cut poppies, are now six ninety-nine.
The old barn, that I once slept in, because of that hard summer day's humid warmth, was torn down last spring, and a new house, with a new family, got put in its place.
YES... like green when it turns to brown. like the powder from your old pastels that would stick on to my fingertips like there was no lettin' go. like yellow frostin on cake. i remember you. or at least, i try to keep that one happy image that is left of you:
In the barn--
when you awoke me from my sleep.
In the fields--
where you would sit and watch me play.
In the corner--
of that old house where you once sat.
In the lily pads--
where the bullfrogs still sing.