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Elegy For Great-Grandmother

There would always be Irish tea
for me, as she shuffled
around the cramped apartment,
filled with knick knacks.

I'd cup the porcelain mug,
waiting for the kettle,
fingers following its delicate painting
and thin veneer,

as if it might crumble,
its thin cracks showing through
like bones in skin,
the years' inevitable toil,

as we'd talk of weather, of family,
of stories from Ireland,
slowly sipping on her past
as we nibbled on cookies

as if the decades between us
were nothing more than
an obstacle of time,
even as the tea bag

steeped its way
into the inevitable.

Kevin Hodgson, for GloPoWriMo 2017

Elegy For Great-Grandmother

by dogtrax

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