Notes to My Grandmother

Just a few yellowing photographs,
Stories told by my aunts,
Glimpses of memory that may not, in truth, be memories,
These are all I have of you.

But I feel you
In my veins, in my laughter and my tears,
I know you because my breath is yours,
And my eyes see the world as you did.

And there is the longing
For the warmth of your arms around me,
The last time your lips brushed my cheek,
For the last time I was safe.

I daydream, sometimes, about
Bringing you pretty things,
Baubles and bright colors you never had,
And a pink daisy painting I did for you.