grandma

when I was twelve, I thought life was like chocolate cake…

 yet so many sobering faces confronted me

 from the crowd that lived the longest-

 no sunshine in their veins,

 nor smiles in the topo lines etched in flesh

 with the scent of faded gardenia

 in an old musty beige house, 

 that sadness lingered. 

 silence was my grandma's friend

 but a clueless mystery to a boy of nine

 clinging to the porcelain edge while taking a bath

 as if the flood of years would invade

 and I drown in her memories

 but silence slept with sadness

 when grey eyes drooped, and the mouth dropped open.

 it terrified me at six, the stillness 

 that came when I closed my eyes and opened my ears

 in the dead of night, the purple black.

 listening to the wheezing of the old one

 in the room beside me

 wondering if it was catching, this awful sound-

 would I get it too when I became crusty?