I miss you.
You’re six feet too far,
glass contains you and
breaks you away.
A mask prevents your voice
from filling my ears.
Your face hidden,
from my touch.
I thought we were safe,
flooded from the words
stabbing my cranium
as I wish to see you again.
A wish that may not
be granted.
My thoughts are plagued,
with the worry you might not
make it.
Torturous thoughts
killing me but
smothering you.
When this is over,
I won’t take your nagging for granted.
I promise to see you
every day when I know
you’re safe.
The feel of your papery hands,
grasping mine as I try to leave.
Your words blending together
the stories you already told me.
Smelling the powder upon
your skin. Your face. Your voice.
Even though I moved away,
living next door and not
seeing you
hurts more than
the distance.
Stay safe.
Stay with me.
It’ll be over soon
and I’ll see you again,
Grandma.