Grandmother
Heath Weaver
with
a Swedish face
and auburn hair curling so slightly
you had to love her
to notice
who
took the ashes of so many fires
unburned
and turned them into wonderful paint on canvas
who
told me I was her favorite
in the early morning
before anyone else in the house was awake
who
laughed so loud and long
you'd swear it was fake
but nothing that loud
is ever fake
and
her callused hands
gently cured my ills
who
at 50 was the
most beautiful woman in the world
because she could make you laugh so hard
it hurt your belly
and the back of your head
a
magician
who would take
old blankets and make mysterious castles
and she would take me along
as she flew above them
on her magic carpet
and I've never flown that high since
and
never been so low as the day she died
and I cried and cried and cried
and touched her emaciated cancerous body
bony and tight as she sank
in a hospital bed in our living room
and
all I wanted to do was absorb
her creativity and belly-busting laugh
and slightly curling hair
and ability to soar above old blankets
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