forget me

There’s a crack in the window

At my grandmothers house-

Just over the sink, where you can see the

Edge of the wild field. I’m staring eye

To eye with the forget-me-nots, holding their

Breath as the wind picks up.

I don’t cook, and the tower of kitchen books are

Staring at me from the counter. I’m avoiding their gaze,

Looking out the chipped window to the leaves falling.

I can see the place I used to hide as a kid, distorted

Through the pane but still front

And center.

I wonder how many times she watched me through the seasons

Through these cracks. I wonder if she was as

Cold as the forget-me-nots and I are.

I wake up to the spider-webbed frost coating the window, seeping

Its way into the kitchen like it has been for weeks.

The forget-me-nots are wilting, and I’m still holding my breath,

Still

Still