Uncanny Projections

(“sunrise_01-02-07” by deb roby is licensed under CC BY 2.0 


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

Continue reading “Two poems by Preston Smith”