go call your grandma right this instant
by: keena du
my palms press into the bluebird mug
fingers seep in tingly warmth
the green tea lifts
steams soft swirls, summoning
memories
who surface like undead ghosts
my four year-old nose
nuzzled into grandma’s woolly cardigan
every inhale lifts
the crushed dust
of loose leaves settled safely
in the threads. it is medicine
for my gasping lungs
and red-faced
toddler tears. it is warm like melting
sugar on the stove
stirred with walnuts
as winter treats. it is solid
heat of weathered hands
her wrinkles trace worn melodies
my solace in the cradled
crook of arms
embrace. it is a lullaby
palms press into bluebird mug
sip by sip the ghosts slip in
bloom in me
a garden for an unmade grave.