My grandma is a woman I never
paid much thought to until
Grandpa passed away and she
was left alone with his dog.

Their marriage always seemed
so unloving and empty, and
she only saw him but once a
day when he was in hospital.

But now that Grandpa passed away,
I wonder if she only saw him once
because she didn’t want to see him
as a skeleton and unremembering.

Now that Grandpa has been buried,
she is lonely and talks on the phone
with me longer than she did before,
and I hate to hang up on her.  

Now that it’s been a year since
Grandpa died, January 25th,
I bought her flowers after
she visited his grave and was sad.

Now Valentine’s Day has struck,
and I did not to call her and
remind her of her solitude, but
now I refuse to leave her alone.

On President’s Day, a day with
absolutely no meaning to us,
I will take her out to lunch and
refuse to leave her alone again.

You are the dirt bag I carried with me
from junior to senior year.  
Filled to the brim with soil
harvested from frozen ground.  
You opened the top and let me toss seeds
inside in hopes that they would grow.
You allowed them to bloom
only enough for your thorns
and weeds to choke them out.  
You are the worst
in the Parable of the Sower.  
You are the ***** purse I carried at the hip,
the shade of **** that only I purchased,
the grass stains on my jeans, and
the bare spot between the greens.
You are the dirt bag that left me
halfway through prom to fish
with his dad; the stained carry-on
who said good-bye through his friends,
and the **** I wish I’d wacked.
You are the dirt bag I let go.