I call my grandma
Mama Myriam,

She’s my dads mom,
So I didn’t spend

Much time with her
Growing up

That doesn’t matter
To her when I call,

She talks as if she
Loves unconditionally,

So difficult to understand,
But the time goes on.

And she tell stories,
Not the ones in books

But the ones that make
Her scars ache,

And I listen,
Attentive,  

Patient,
Quiet,

As the city outside
Rumbles the windows,

And my furniture
Decays where it stands,

She tells her stories,
With a cat on her lap,

You can almost hear
The purrs through

The phone,
And what stories she tells,

About love, and life,
And betrayal, and abuse,

What a life she has lived,
She thanks me for listening,

With an “I love you”
As I ready up to hang up,

No, Mamá,
Thank you.