Grandma

The soft touch of
the felt alphabet you had cut
out for me still lingers,

almost as clear as the
sing song of words
that is Yankee Doodle in Polish.

My memories remain sharp
of days drinking chocolate milk
after school

And the taste of your
scrambled eggs like a
icon in my mind

You who were so many
different people to
so many different people

Your polish faded but lingered
your coffee with creme and sugar.

When I was still a day dreaming boy
your home was a paradise
A safe place when no place felt safe

I learned more from you
than from any school
argued for decades over ideas
and opinions, listening to
Boots Randolph and Hank Williams Sr

And my only regret is that
my daughter will not
know you as I did

I will always miss talking to you.

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