Dear Grandma Vera

I want a love like the ocean that forces me to recognize how small I am compared to the force of it Like a tree with rings that grow each year like wrinkles that crease the edges of your eyes Like a summer storm that keeps the grass green and shakes the ground Like a fire with heat that teases the skin of your feet as you dance around it Like a butterfly so gentle you can’t even feel its weight on your hand yet capable of flight Like a star with light spans generations and

“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart: I am, I am, I am.” -Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar *** Multitudes I am His calloused hands wrapped around my mother’s neck boots that beat him while he laid shackled flipped kitchen tables and slammed doors and birthday cards that say, “I am proud of you.” sweat and bruises and grime that flow from a blue collar life like storm water Her nimble fingers as they braids my hair crashes and screams coming from her

Turning 30 and looking through my life like I’m wandering through a museum. *** I am 4. My dad is working as a welder. Sometimes he works late. When he’s late at work, my mom and I have couch bed nights. She makes us brownies or cookies and we pull out the couch bed and talk and read. She is pregnant with my baby brother. I am 5. My best friend in kindergarten is a Russian boy named Gavin who leaves small gifts on my desk every morning. I get in trouble for kissing him on the