Finding Forgiveness

We never asked Grandma
how she felt
because she would produce
a bag of pills
and a long list of health issues
ailing her.

My son, Nik, died in a car accident
and my aunts decided
not to tell Grandma.
It was, after all,
about our unfolding grief.
Not her.

Grandma came for an
unexpected visit.
She seemed frail,
shrinking beneath her shawl,
blue eyes bright
and lips painted crimson.

I remembered picking cherries
and pomegranates
in her backyard,
the juice shading my chin
the color of her lipstick.

I took her hand in mine,
her cold fingers long and thin,
leaned close and kissed
her wrinkly rice paper cheek.
“Grandma,” I said. “I love you.”