I see vibrancy more clearly now.
Every single wave a florescent ringlet of white.
Now there is my Grandmother.
It’s been 18 years, but there she is.
I can see her eyes, honest and serious.
Always watching and taking it in.
Her eyebrows would bounce and rest her lids.
Sometimes all at once.
It’s been 18 years.
But there she is.
A portrait fixed in time.
Of flawless hair and striking, blue eyes.
I see the vibrant whites more clearly now
In the color of my changing hair.
And though I conceal my eyes with glasses
When I take them off, I see she’s there.