The air is brisk and biting
Here on the hill.
Snow blankets the ground,
A virgin blanket for your rest.
It is so very quiet,
The snowflakes not so much as
Whispering,
As they dance on the wind
All around me
Lie cold stones carved with
Names of people
Who were once loved.
Your stone lies here too.
I brush the snow away.
It says when you were born
And when you died,
But, in-between
You lived,
And you loved me, grandma.
Why doesn't it say that too?
Where are the words
To tell how you taught me to sew,
Or how we walked downtown
Together, arm-in-arm, laughing?
Wasn't there room on the granite
To chisel how you made your
Garden grow,
Or to tell the world about your toothless smile?
It is so cold here,
So little of the warmth we shared,
My grandma and me.
Only the scalding tears on my cheeks.
I throw myself on your grave,
Snowflakes melting in my tears,
I swing my arms and legs
In wide arcs across the ground
I stand to look back down
At the angel who guards you now.
Sleep well until we meet again.
