my wonderful nanny
is not actually a nanny.
she likes to be called Annie
and doesn't carry a *****.

she writes poems about us and day drinks.
she likes to cuss and never makes a fuss.
she even gets her hair done regularly, unlike other grannies.

her makeup is always perfect, her red lipstick signature.
her sunglasses are just divine and delicious.

she is a glam-ma
Nanny Annie is the best.

i remember the fifth day of the sixth month,
when i kissed your cold body,
it lay in that ebony black coffin,
and i kept quiet, despite knowing you loathed the color black.

back to the day i saw you helpless for the first time,
you fell while walking, you drooled, and you forgot faces.
but you always said, "the day i forget you, you know...it is time"
i brushed the hair out of your face, and held back a tear.

when they said "few weeks more", i cupped your hands in mine.
i looked at them, they were frail and cold and soft,
twisted from the adversities you've faced.
this time, you tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

2 weeks later when i sat beside you, praying,
you asked who i was and why i was watching you sleep.
i ran out of the room, and screamed into a pillow.
it was time.

it was time; to let go of my muse
                                     of my home
                                      of my solace
it was time for the hardest part - goodbye.

today, as i stand near your grave, i smile
i place daisies and share a meal with your ethos.
you were an enigma of a women,
hallelujah, i say.

a river flows in both of us
with the same thrum of an erratic heartbeat,
steady hands that secretly shake
and heavy eyelids that feel like weights.
we grew up on the shelf--
decorum for the dollhouse
of broken dreams.
born and raised
we rise and fall
like balloons,
but we don't always get to reach the stars.
we kneel,
not in submission,
or for prayer,
but to remember where we come from
and where we'll go back to.
we crack and twist like dead trees
leaning from the weight.
diamonds, hiding,
in wait.
we are perennials--
we blossom and die;
forgetting we come alive again.
but when the sun has set and we lose our breath
we shiver amongst the silence,
only landmarks not found yet