Grandma

standing on a chair
to help frost my birthday cake -
lemon frosting -
sunshine; sugar;
a lemon tree in the backyard.

now I see with adult eyes
this bent woman with skinny bird's legs
red-rimmed eyes dull and sticky
gin with two olives always close at hand.
from her chair she hollers instructions,
misses nothing -
my grandmother is ruler of her own domain.

I watch her fade;
shrink;
skin sticking to bones
as her cotton hair
pulls back and disappears.
her body tries
to silence her.

but behind those milky eyes and the eggshell skull
is a mind not yet soft,
one that knows the answer
to every crossword question
that holds a hundred recipes, and remembers
the bats in Panama when my father was two,
each successive pet pup of childhood
this mind holds oceans.

one tissue paper hand in mine
trembling lips pressed to my forehead
love in human form.