Yolanda

I turned my grandmother into a bundle of lavender
I keep her at the foot of my bed      I toss and turn and we do not share space well
and most mornings I wake up  early enough to put her back together before
leaving for the day I am most certain that if I grow something with her
name in mind then she can never die

I am confident in my abilities to carry dead weight
it is as simple as staring out the driver side window and
here lie the violets after which she was named and
here lie the roses she once brought me and
here lie our fingers covered in sticky rice and
every so often there is a ringing in the silence and
this is where I have buried her
where only I can see this
is where she has become
a part of me          I know the burnt taste of coffee in a cold hospital
I know the pace at which a heart will stop
when left unattended.

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