some things remain

beep, beep

the chair lift warns us

out of the way

as granny rides slowly

down the fifteen

white-carpeted stairs

past the picture frames

filled with memories

of earlier days;

we have all grown older.

in the kitchen grandpa

rattles through the cupboard

looking for baking sheets

for the cinnamon rolls

do you want cantaloupe

or grapefruit? he asks loudly

he’s always told me i mumble

but now the what?

of his reply comes more often;

we are none of us getting younger.

around the breakfast table

i look from granny’s hair

silvered pearl, to dad’s hair

silver white, and recall

the increasing silver strands

among my own; we are all

gray before our time.

and yet, grandpa’s blue eyes

twinkle with the mischief

granny must’ve loved as a girl;

my gunness, she says, and tells

a tall-but-true tale of her own.

through eighty-three years on earth

and sixty-four sun cycles of marriage

some things remain unchanged.