GRIEF Poem: Finding Memories of My Grandmother, by Julia L. Hill

cleaned out your sewing box the other day
in the dark corner
behind the basement stairs
that I’ve been afraid of since I was a child—
the ancient singular pull chain
lightbulb dangling
from the wooden beams, and cobwebs
strung like Christmas
lights across the ceiling,
the box had been sitting there
since you died and no one else wanted it
and Dad couldn’t throw it away
because we cling to objects like they are people
because I needed a home
to place my thread
and buttons
and those sharp little silver pins
that get everywhere and become embedded
into the carpet like hidden daggers
that stab your sole when least expected
and make you swear to God
because the pain is too much
I cleaned out your sewing box
and I was reminded of your smile
quick to place a kiss
Revlon fuchsia
sticky
and loving on the cheek
and I missed your lipstick stain on my face
that I endured and scrunched my nose at when small
and I was reminded of your scent—
warm spiced lavender
mint toothpaste
fabric softener
and grapefruit
and vanilla ice cream on Sundays
in the kitchen, the prophetic carved cuckoo clock
ticking away our time in the corner
and I loved and grieved you all over again.

Author: poetryfest

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