my grandmama’s skin
was like silken rose petals – i would
squeeze it in my fingers while she was
singing me to bed at night,
the smell of burning wood,
twilight.
and once,
when she took off her bra in the firelight,
bluebells fell off her drooping breasts.
“why do you do that, babul’?”
“to remind myself to be as sweet as i smell”
so when i ran into her, crying,
or laughing, or hungry:
headfirst,
bluebells.
headfirst,
softness.
my family always wondered
why i wore my emotions on me
like a flagrant disregard for decency.
it was because you taught me softness.
grandmama,
you gave me the smell of bluebells,
and firenight,
and silken rose petal skin.

Photo credit: Little Thoughts on Flickr

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