grandmother

I can remember

grass stains on my clothing

from rolling down hills

over your home

sheltered in the earth

built into dirt

like a cave.

Your back arched

like a bear

and I was

the one cub

you cradled in warmth.

Your aging bones ached

but you’d still

dance me to dreams

on footsteps

light as snowflakes.

I’d wander your farmlands,

wild as the birds

and feral as the barn cats

and you’d call me home

for supper.

We would hum

over the hen

your own fingers

plucked the feathers from.

You’re the candle in the dark,

of a past I’ve smushed out

to forget.

You’re the film

on an eternal loop

projected to my soul.