2 am coffee rings on my bedside table procrastination at the expense of a letter grade Nana's hand-stitched quilt has never felt so soft But her funeral hit me hard That quilt draped over her coffin matched the color scheme of the one she made for a little girl who love butterflies and spring time I remember pool side juice boxes stuffed animals from a pretty lady she was nice to me her mom was mean to her she cried at the funeral Nana was a better mother to her than her own ever dared to be her sister found cigarettes shes so thin now I remember her lipstick its always been red it looks so red on her skin the color of the ash that falls from her stick matching the skin of Papa Nana's son He sang at her funeral He cried the whole time Everyone cried Not me but I cant cry Jade Green words she read them spotty reading with bad rehearsal but I remember her and I and him and my brother juice boxes quilts that pool its all her and I wish I had known her well enough to miss her
My Nana's funeral was today. Her quilt is still in my room. She made us a few. It means a lot more now that im out of chances to thank her for it.