You drankhot waterfrom a chipped mug.It was so boiling,that it would have scaldedmy tongue.But you loved it.I loved the Eggo wafflesthat I’ve neverhad without you;for me they are onlytherein your warm house,with the rainpouringbehind the large window,as it often doesin Olympia.

I remember your softfreckled hands,the skin loose and wrinkled,but still strong,patiently untanglingmy wet hairwith that purplecomb I loved,as we lookedat Ranger Rick magazines,and picturesof Mom’s diving days.You answeredmy millions of questions,and read methousands of booksin your rich voice,on that green plaid couch,that has since been movedfrom your house to mine.

I curled in your lapand your loud laughshook your large framealong with my small one,making me giggleand fold myself deeperinto your well-cushioned armsuntil I could feelyour heart against mywiry back.I didn’t know then,that someday soonthat heart would fail.

I wish you could seeme now,Grandma,see my lifeand how I’ve grown.I want to show youthe work that I’ve done,and togetherwe could read the poetrythat I’ve come to love.But you were gonetoo soon.Gone beforeI could saygoodbye,gone beforeyou could truly seethe granddaughteryou barely knew.