Dear Grandma,
I write to you
Knowing you could never read this. Even so,
I want you to know, Grandma, how I remember you
I remember you in tiny trinkets
In blue board game pieces
And fake glass candies that used to be on your end table
And dozens of photo albums littered across your floor
And the cranberry glass you used to collect
And teapots you rarely used to make tea
I remember you in the songs you used to burst out into
In The Dancing Queen
And Que Sera Sera
And going to grandma’s for some ronis
I remember you in food
In your pot roast over egg noodles
And your fettuccine alfredo with chicken marsala
And your undercooked pancakes
And your freezer-burned bread
And the wrinkle in your face when we dared suggest you eat something green
I remember you in travel
In brilliant pearl sands on a clear water beach
And cruise ships touring the seas
And Georgia, where your house used to be
I remember you in holidays
In eggs of putty on easter, dangling over the banisters of a house we sold
And multi use gift wrap bags at Christmas
And birthday cards filled with two wrinkled dollar bills
Most of all, Grandma, I will remember that you loved me.
Love,
Granddaughter