I haven’t visited grandma much
but we dance in astral meadows.
Mom calls one day, I’m knee-deep
in books, says grandma is seeing
her father, hearing brackish hymns
in her bedroom where my grandpa
has not slept in months. I do not see
her that night, only lilacs glinting
in a burnt orange sunset. What?
she yells and I hear her from years
away. Mom calls one final time,
grandpa cannot handle her screams
for voices he cannot hear, and I sip
black tea and slumber, meet her
again in the meadows where lilacs
now burn and the sky now weeps