Grandma

Grandma told me it was cold today,
that she’d seen the neighbors,
that she needed to go home.
But she’d been here forever,
confined in a chair
that tells her she’s there to stay.
So she laughs
as she walks through her brain,
and calls for a son
who won’t come back.
And she tells me her mother
is waiting at home.
Somewhere this is true –
Grandma just doesn’t know it yet.
Grandma slept today.
And she was silent,
something she’s never done before.
When she wakes
she stares at the tablecloth,
not telling me about her day,
not fighting to stand on her own.
Grandma’s dreaming
of a place where her mother stands
and her son will come
when she calls.