Sage

The sage felt like mint breezily passing

Through my nostrils. I felt

The scent was amassing

In my mind as more than what I smelt.

My great-grandmother’s house drew

You in with tiny papers

At the door she would lightly punch you

In the arm as one of her many capers.

Her hands were ecru: her veins, streets.

To just touch and to hold one palm

Was like winning once after many defeats.

She sang and her song did calm.

The sizzle of the steak that she made

Sounded like a rain patter.

Flavors were like taste buds being paid.

It was lean but my mind grew fatter.

Great-grandmother owned gifts of gold.

Rings and necklaces she had kept.

It was a dream for me to hold

Them as she cradled me when I slept.

When I awoke, the jewels had returned

To the box on her dresser.

She never grew concerned

About the case holding anything lesser.

Great-grandmother was truly mine.

She left me at a young age.

I was barely nine.

I have papers, songs, steak, gold, and sage.