sunday with grandma
the roll of her breath
is like life itself
heavy, slow, then fast,
then still
as if the air in the room
is having its last hot turn
in those eighty year old
lungs
still fresh
as peeled peaches from
a neighbor's backyard.
the desert sky
a blue grey
the california mountain
ranges cracking their
peaks into the horizon
on this dusty clear earth
the highway stretches out
in its familiar way
and i think
there is no pain here
only goodness
this is the home where i belong
parts
home
Email: katlachatte25@hotmail.com
