I had a grandma

once.

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But all that’s left

are questions.

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Did she have gray hair?

Bake the best cookies?

Cuddle baby Dragon?

Sew me a baby blanket?

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How’d she die?

Why so early?

Why doesn’t Mom say?

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After the questions

are asked out

with no clear answers

all that’s left

is emptiness.

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An empty chair

at the table.

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Empty sound in the house.

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An empty look in Mom’s eye.