Grandmother

You were once my Grammy--
Solid, strong and strange
Baking a special batch of your
Chocolate chip meringue cookies
Without nuts, just for me

Eat up , you'd later say.
[Cooking] was the only thing I could ever do for you kids, anyway.

You loved me enough
To mend my wounds. You
Told me I was smart--words
I elsewhere never heard. When
I asked your for a mayonnaise sandwich
You gave it to me, no questions asked.

You kept a flask in your apron.
I could feel it sometimes, when I hugged you,
Or else, I smelled it--
A sour scent
On your breath.

We took a picture on my
First Communion Day. You
Loved me enough
To slide your hand between us
While he pulled me into him--
Irresistible in my
Angelic white lace dress.
The three of us said Cheese on cue.
Years later, my Polaroid eyes revealed
The terror
You could not touch.

Come Listen I used to call to you,
Working in the kitchen, while piano lessons ensued.
I can hear you perfectly from in here,
You'd reply, and request that I play my childish rendition
Of Ode to Joy one more time, but
He said I had to learn
To read music.

You knew my pain, but felt you could not stop it.
Instead, when he slammed my foot in the car door,
You held me until my tears dried.

I know now that he broke your ankles.
I recall the hatred in your eyes when you would lay down his dinner plate.
If only we could have banded together in defense against him.
Five years would not have passed since our last dialogue.

I forgive you, even if the others do not.
And even if I cannot face you--
Still, decrepit frame
Wheeling down the echoing hallway.