Published by Drunk Monkeys, 2021

The robins flicker among tight-knit
branches of conifers,
and the blue jays are barking.  

What they’re saying,
we’ll never know. 

My grandmother’s mind is splitting
into fragments--a supernova, the
scattering of stars.  

The doctors assured us that
we would have more time.
More time to remember,
to help her remember. 

Grandma waters her lilies,
but it’s the end of November,
and the flowers wither and die
in front of us. 

What time is it in space?

The forest falls quiet,
the sky pulls the blankets over the land,
needles drop from the ponderosa,
and all that’s left 

            is my grandmother
            and her robins.