a day behind already...
easter morning come and gone...
candy on the couches
gummi bear murder scenes set up and
woken by a phone call
that my grandmother is in the hospital,
a sunny drive that caught me crying
remembering how she pronounced
diane as dzee-ann...
meatpies and french fries,
archie comics and coloring books
carol burnett on the tv
while she counted stitches and watched the babies...
antiseptic halls and labored breathing
tubes pumping oxygen
moments of comprehension
that we grasp onto like gold...
and we pass them along to each other to hold
"she said she loves to eat..." we say
"that no one can take that away from her"
and we all smile knowingly,
recognizing shreds of granny
watching my father by her bedside,
she is frail now and can't see...
grasping for the bedrail,
she finds my father's hand
and holds it.
driving home in the dark...
peanut butter sandwiches,
as i wonder what are the things
my kids will remember