when my grandma died i was only 8
i became familiar with the stages of grief before i even knew how to properly tie my shoes
i used to convince myself that she wasn’t really dead
images of her breaking out of her mausoleum would come into my mind every day
i imagined her walking down the street, a blanket around her shoulders
shivering from the cold
trying to find her way back home.
i looked for her during every car ride
hoping we might pass her wandering.
we never did.
i’m 23 now,
and i still look for her in older women i see in public
hoping i might see shared features
or the same glasses
maybe a similar voice.
i’ve never found her
but i don’t think i’ll ever stop looking















