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.
