They say sorry
you passed slumbering
under night covering.
I keep saying, “it’s okay.”
my eyes spurting salt
thinking my body may be made up
100 percent, instead of 95 water.
I can hear you, “dry those tears,
missy” but you aren’t looking behind
from the passenger seat, to me,
your highly sensitive granddaughter,
knowing you’ll watch over me, listen,
but I won’t be able to call anymore,
hear your excitement to pull out
your Bible to help me understand
God’s love for me. Tonight, a woman
gave me pork chops exactly how
you made them. I thought through
my drops, they taste good cold.
I must have made them bitter.
Author’s Note: My grandma passed away yesterday. She’s taught me more about Jesus than I can put it into words right now. She’s the first person I’ve been close to, that I’ve lost. I love you, Grandma. Thank you for loving me exactly as I know Jesus is loving you in Heaven right now.