| i sat on the end of your bed, holding your hand, glancing at the dignity piled with the sheets in the corner. You'd forgotten that they'd cut into you, still worried your thin blood would pour out, and you poked your fingers into the pain. i wrote you a note saying don't. i was quietly gagging on the sight of you in your tubes and nakedness. i hated the smell, and the lights, and the death. i wanted to run away, but you called me beautiful. Always beautiful, you said. Grandma, i've never had a grandma love me the way she should. You are so kind to me and i'm not even yours. You belong to my baby brother. i want to sit down beside you and cry at the cloud over your eyes some days, but you won't even do that yourself. i suppose i'm afraid you'll die and i won't have any loving grandma left. |