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?
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