Eight months shy of a hundred. And still
filled with the wonderment of a child. My grandmother
is a revelation tumbling in on itself. Songs
and secrets snaked into the creases of her smile.
Her 63-year-old hunch is...
Everything inside of you was floodlit, infinite
as daybreak. You were boisterous and bold,
sensitive and soft, arms open to anything
that would hold you. You were a cascade
of offerings. A toothy, overbite smile