It is just before dinnertime in late September.
We are unsure of the sky’s color;
blue, gray, creme, gold,
Autumn falls gently
and squints up at the light:
gold, creme, gray, blue,
my family loitering around my grandma.
80 years is a long time to be here, a
long time to see faces, to talk, to
walk, to see time fly-
we laugh at Auntie’s sunglasses on Grandma-
cool, sleek, reclined in a pocket of earth
and she looks, Mother to
My mother;
“Be careful.”
We rejoice,
words
we say
are important, but
not so much as actions.
Autumn falls gently,
Her eyes blue, gray, creme,
gold, open and squint
up at the light. She
closes them, and naps.
Free Write 