Soft hands, set wrinkles and thinning hair
Eyes that speak kind and
Skin, of course, fair
She's cooked and struggled and lived for us
The most beautiful woman, beginning to rust.
To her right sits a plate of uneaten food
Her tone has grown weaker and
Voice somewhat subdued
We force our joy upon her; inept
Stiff, realizing that we have missed steps.
Grandmother has been mine forever
Ours
As long as I can remember
But her next words bring a compromise
She speaks, and tears fill my immaculate eyes.
"I wouldn't have a problem," she said
"If I fell in out in the floor this very moment,
Dead."
And here's the heartbreaker, I wish to omit:
"As a matter of fact, I might like it."
