my grandmother is in a box that looks like the cell phone we gave her when she moved to the nursing home. picked it frosted pink with silver trim. filled it with phone numbers of her family. set it next to her bed. pink for breast cancer and crocheted hats and mary kay samples, lipstick and blush on paper cards. drugstore diamonds I never thanked her for and I never called and I think she was gone too far anyway. and so instead this matching box, these flower arrangements, these photos of her in yellow cap and gown, smiling with dark hair, looking like my sister.

1 comment:

Carol Guess said...

Amelia, I'm sorry.

This is a beautiful poem -- a little world in itself. Lovely words.