I pretend today
that grandma’s alive,
in her flat just across
the bridge

It’s morning and
she’s having tea
with babka and butter
while sitting at
her front-room window
facing the life on the street
one floor below

She hums old folk tunes,
short lilts of melody with each exhale
punctuated now and then by a sip

I will call her today to tell her that I love her and
that Isabella and I will pick her up Friday at noon
to spend the weekend

To see the colors
of the fallen leaves

Chagall 2019