68/96

Disclaimer: This poem was written in memory of my late grandmother (and) great grandmother, the matriarchs of my family. These two women were and are continuous sources inspiration and motivation in my life and soul. Losing them created a void that can never be adequately filled. I have never shared this poem with anyone before.

68/96

Fried chicken, Macaroni,

collard greens and sweet potato pie.

Every week,

You were always there,

My backbone and something similar

To that for everyone who

Was blessed enough to know you.

I remember that day,

You smiled at me and asked

Me about school and life,

told me your stories,

But your eyes held another question.

That day you forgot my name.

Now, you’re not here and

Neither am I.

Neither are they.

I guess that’s why

Sunday dinners only come on Easter.

 I guess that’s why

family gatherings are filled with potlucks

 And guessing your “secret ingredients”

And betting to see which cousin

will show up this time.

I guess that’s why we’re broken.

You’re not here and neither are we.