I asked my grandmother
how old she would be.
She looked me dead in the eye and said,
"I will be a young thirty three."
I threw my head back and laughed,
hugged her neck and kissed
her fading hair.
I cry for the things I wish I had,
I cry for the things said behind my back,
I cry for the things they thought I lacked.
I cry for the things that fill
my ever growing sack
of pretentious failure,
I cry for the things I hope the future brings.
But she is always there
for every single thing.