My Grandma Charlotte died almost a year ago now. I wrote this poem recently about how it takes the brain a while to catch up, at least the subconscious part that still wants to call her and tell her things, but how also...we don't always want it to catch up...Reminder
I just absentmindedly drew
an angry clown smoking
a stogie. Read that
Rorschach inkblot.
You used to draw
a clown for me on paper placemats.
I remember some of the parts
looked like sausage links or balloons,
but I can’t remember the order.
I want chocolate milk with a bendy straw
and blueberry pancakes from Pappan’s Restaurant.
There’s a Wendy’s now where Pappan’s used to be.
I want to call and ask you if you think Stabler and Olivia
should hook up on Law and Order: SVU
and how do you spell Mariska’s last name?
It is hard to remember again and again
that you have died.
H-A-R-G-I-T-A-Y.
Hargitay sounds like hard to say.
What was that song you sang
to me that went paddy raddy bumsteay?
I’m trying to say I don’t want
even my memories
to die.
